Reasons to smile
by HoshisamaValmor
Summary: Happiness is not one constant emotion to hold onto eternally, but a series of fleeting moments and fleeting people. Non-romantic approach to Undertaker and Claudia's relationship. This has a drabble-ish structure with much lengthier chapters at the end.
1. The child who smiled at Death

**Author's Note:** I don't normally write fics like this. I prefer to make fics with more canon based information rather than speculation - more free headcanons which I don't dare venture into that often. Undertaker and Claudia would therefore hardly be my usual topic of writing but I decided to give it a shot anyway.

This fic follows a non-romantic view of their relationship. Hope you like it. Also, a big shoutout to dorkshadows on tumblr for their headcanon post on Claudia and Lady Violet Crawley of Downton Abbey, which I think it's perfection and will attempt and hopefully succeed to follow a bit here. Title is a variation from my other Shinigami-centered fic, _Reasons to live Reasons to die._

 **Edit:** Changed some bits!  
 **EDIT: Thanks so much to** **Kiellessa** for thoroughly beta-reading this chapter! Apologies to everyone yet again for the amount of mistakes all around.

 **Disclaimer:** Kuroshitsuji obviously belongs to Toboso Yana but this headcanon/backstory is of my creation together with the inspiration from the above mentioned post.

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 _._

 _1830_

 _._

Suicides weren't uncommon.

Ah, if they knew it. If _he_ knew it.

The most common were lonely souls, wretched and destroyed beyond apparent salvation, rich and poor alike. They were too distressed to continue on their lives - only to unknowingly move to a different form of penance.

...Depending on how you saw it. He knew many Shinigami who seemed quite happy with such existences.

The second most common were couples, seeking to perpetuate their love in a dramatic Shakespearean fashion.

...Hardly a portion of those eternal lovers remained affectionate toward one another after they realized what their _'happily ever after'_ actually turned out to be. But they eventually found their own forms of happiness, he assumed.

 _This_ particular incident was novelty.

He didn't particularly enjoy suicide cases. The paperwork was a headache, even the preliminary reports that field workers like himself had to fill in. This one case, meant to be mundane and utterly boring, sparked an increasing interest; a small box of surprises disguised in the shape of a refined parlour of a wealthy mansion.

First, the victim. An elderly woman. Old enough to be expecting natural death, refined enough to be wary of the repercussions of her act, of shaming her name with her decision to take her own life.

Second, the baby girl sitting next to her. Quiet in the tranquility of innocence, unaware of her surroundings and the events that had unfolded.

Third, the fact that this child, encircled by death and looking Death in the eyes, raised her round face and smiled.

The child smiled at him.

And for the first time in what felt like - and likely was - forever, he smiled back.

"Oh sweet child. You are a little dove, aren't you."

.

Claudia Phantomhive had no recollection of her witnessing her grandmother's suicide, much less of her encounter with him.

He never forgot it. The baby girl who smiled at Death, who had come to take her grandmother away.

.

(Her grandmother was a scary lady. Very scary, and like so many other Shinigami, she was happily engaged in her new life that was meant to be her penance. As happily as one could assume at least, from that stern and emotionless expression she always wore.)

(She probably wasn't happy at all. She never smiled.)

(Wasn't that the sign of happiness? Surely people could be happy without smiling.)

(But he never smiled either…)

...and he wasn't happy.

.

Once, out of some strange melancholic moment he barely ever dared to even consider what was about, he queried a fellow coworker about happiness. What made him feel that emotion? He seemed to be one of the happy few amongst the Grim Reapers.

The other Shinigami gaped for a moment. He was probably more surprised to be addressed so randomly by him than surprised by the oddity of the question. But eventually, he blurted a quick reply: "If something makes me smile, I suppose that's what makes me happy."

"That's a rather dull and cheap answer, isn't it?"

He left the coworker - who was now more taken aback than when he had been approached - staring after him.

That simplistic and utterly generic answer hardly qualified as an interesting input of any sort. Surely there was something more, something else required to create happiness, something more than just some random object or interest or hobby. That one thing would be but a fleeting moment that wouldn't change anything in and on itself. He was interested in the emotion, not the reaction.

Shortly after, he abandoned the thought altogether and fell back to his mundane, simple and uterly generic task that death itself was.

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 _1837_

 _._

He recognized her immediately when they crossed paths again. The imprint of her baby features still lingered visible underneath her child ones, as recognizable to him as they would be to any close family member that had been privileged to see her grow up. And her smile would have been the same if she showed it, he was sure, albeit with more teeth. But the child seemed wary of that expression, her face now clouded and cautious.

"You shouldn't run away from your mother, child." The words came out calm and with an hint of something unusual, a sort of gentle amusement he knew some possessed, but he hardly ever expressed himself.

He shouldn't even be talking with humans - he shouldn't be seen altogether and could have so easily avoided to. But when had been the last time he even cared to reveal himself in such a manner? It was usually pointless to do so. The simple case he had just filed -the butchering of a poor prostitute in the alley just a corner away - wasn't anything new or extraordinary. Nothing it would require him to wear any form of disguise to blend in a crowd of humans, as some sort of sneaky adventure. He had been bored of those types for years.

Regardless of any of that, here they were on these dangerous roads of the city that held no peril or excitement for him, and yet screamed a warning to humans - and even more so, to their children - to be wary. And here he was, talking with the little girl ignoring said warning.

She was cautious, yes. She wore cheap, mended clothing, nothing of the sort her social standard would wear by far, and one could mistake her for a homeless boy. She seemed to be quick to search for reliable escape routes should he have been an assailant, ready to flee at a moment's notice. That caution was a vital addition to the clear rebellious and curious vein within her. She was... six, no, seven years old. How wonderful did she look, and how sharp.

"Who says I've ran away?" her voice was still high and babyish but with an unmistakable pitch of nobility. It would have bled into and ruined her disguise should anyone else have found her. That alone was enough to make him to chuckle quietly.

The girl squinted, a sulky child expression almost too sweet to be threatening at all, as she thoroughly inspected him in search for motives or origins. For some reason, she improvised, perhaps to enforce her attempted disguise, adding: "I'm exploring. What about you, sir?"

"Me? Oh, I'm dealing with affairs that are far more dragging than enthusiastic, youthful exploring. Good luck with your adventure, young lady."

Despite blowing her cover, her previous mistrustful expression softened, almost as if she was grateful for the approval he had given to her ventures. She seemed satisfied, and her lips broke to an easy smile, just as they had when she had been a baby.

"I will advise you, however, not to stroll to other streets nearby. A smart lady such as yourself knows that some dark mysteries of this city hold unpleasant sights."

She immediately peeked around him as if on reflex, to the corner of the street, as if she knew just from his words exactly where he was advising her against going.

"Oh. Has someone died?"

Well, wasn't that a fast conclusion.

"Yes." He could have lied, but what was the point? But perhaps it was not advisable to be so straightforward... he hadn't interacted with humans for a long while.

"So are you some sort of undertaker? Is that the drag affair you spoke of?"

Oh well. Now.

What to do.

It was not as if it were up to Shinigami to interfere in human affairs. This child wasn't meant to die today - he would have been given her name in the soul list. Why would a child need to die for asking one question?

"In a way."

"Shouldn't you be careful too, then? The perpetrators surely could attempt to attack those who find their victims."

"No child, I don't believe they would." He paused. "I'm positive you'll find interesting things to explore someplace else."

The girl's wary expression returned - that caution again - but she didn't seem afraid. Instead, she was focused on his lanky frame and his expression. She didn't move either, which left it up to him to do so.

He stepped slowly up to and then past her, strangely aware of the odd straining on his lips. And aware of the equally strange, albeit less pleasant, sense of loss. This moment spent with her seemed be gone far too quickly.

"Uh, pardon me. If I could - could you wait, please?"

He turned around, curious at the polite tone of aristocracy turned so silly and adorable when babbled by such a small child.

"If I could, may I ask you an odd request?"

"Oh~?"

"Could you remove your glasses? Please?"

He blinked, and for some reason nodded immediately. He returned to where she stood, lowering his tall frame to his knees, so that the girl now stood above him by some centimeters. She wasn't afraid, but she wasn't smiling either. Slightly apprehensive, curious, not so much judging this strange figure in front of her like adults would, just curious to get the answer to her request, whatever intention it held.

His lips still had the curve of the faintest of smiles. It remained and increased in amusement when he removed the thin spectacles from his face and Claudia's brows furrowed in her focus.

"Why ever do you ask this for, child?"

"What's wrong with your eyes?"

"My sight is poor."

"Is that why your eyes looks like that?"

A chuckle vibrated in his chest. "Oh?"

She blinked, an achievement of some sort appointed in her mind. She didn't say it out loud.

"Are you going away?"

"Yes, child."

"I see. Thank you."

"Whatever you thanking me for?"

"For the advise. Yes. Also... please, when you came back, even if it's a short while from now... do not address me as child. You've seen through my disguise, so you know I'm a lady and I will not abide such diminishing treatment. You will address me as Lady Phantomhive - well, that sounds like my mother, so... Lady Claudia if need be."

She was unquivering in her resolved words, despite his increasingly astonished face. Pleasant, such a pleasant surprise.

"Until next we meet, Mr Undertaker."

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 _to be continued_

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 **Author's Note:** I'm almost shivering from seeing that 'to be continued' up there, making this the 3rd ongoing fic I have. I apologize but I have been having quite a few bits of struggles with time and writing. I am going through an ordeal. This particular fic has a similar fashion to my 'Paper Roses' fic - I have this idea in my head for months and either way, I _will_ finish it. Hope you'll be around to read and hopefully you'll enjoy.

Probably there's no need for me to say this here, but Claudia takes Undertaker is Death, and is thanking for having not been taken that day. She'll wonder whether he was a real persona or an imagination in the next chapter. That's the plan at least.

 **Thanks for reading,** hope you can leave a review and please point out mistakes.


	2. Mr Undertaker

**Author's Note:** Well I think I had too much fun with this one and didn't plan it. I'm starting to think I'll actually have fun overall with this fic in ways I didn't plan. Let's hope. Hope you can enjoy it though.

I actually really want to believe that Undertaker's scars are tied to some event regarding Claudia, but I don't know how the timeline and whatnot would fit, so in this fic I'm just making them a consequence of him deserting - a sort of 'branding' of Shinigami (but meh, maybe Grell would have recognized him right away? Undertaker sure recognized Grell as a Shinigami). I once saw at least one really awesome fanart that alluded to that - the pattern of his scars matching the standard death scythes - and I'm sure it'd make a pretty dark fic for someone to write (if they haven't already... does anyone happen to know?), but here I won't even dwell much on it.

(Who knows, I may save that idea to add to my 1469837235465890 list of writing prompts and hope someday I'm either inspired enough or mentally destroyed enough to try to dive into that pit)

 **Edit:** changed some bits! I had several stuff wrong, after re-reading canon stuff!

Thanks to MassiveMilkshakeNerd and to whomever else reads.

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Much changed after that day.

Time and Death were supposed to be mutually exclusive realities. To be perceived as such. Whereas to him, somewhere along the years and decades (or maybe just very recently), they started creating the creeping prospect of different outcomes. Time allows change, whilst Death is just - well, the end. That void at the end of each thousandth or millionth or billionth cinematic record of every single human life he had surveyed working - paying his sentence - as a Shinigami, as the one of these employed Grim Reapers. That task, meant-to-be-penance, that burocratic and boring and utterly indifferent action of witnessing lives lived too shortly or too longly, always having the same end.

The end.

Death hadn't changed or evolved at all.

How mundane.

Boring.

Looking back now (almost funny, really) he supposed Death was also old-fashioned. The avant-garde didn't extend past inventive death scythes that, well, held no invention on their concept whatsoever. Death was old-fashioned. Not much room for opinions, alternatives, or questions of any sort. How equally and befittingly boring.

Not that he even got the chance of doing anything. He didn't even _knew_ what he could have done, or if he even _wanted_ to do anything at all. He merely wondered, questioned it - _ **it**_ being death. The one unquestionable, unchangeable _mundanesimplegeneric_ fact and reality of life.

Why?

The same way he wondered about happiness that one day, he wondered about death. Why? Why was it such a final, unchangeable and definitive fact of life? Why did everything have to end, when it would be so much more interesting if they could continue to develop, learn and change?

Mere questions, wanderings anyone should be allowed to - but oh, goodness, did these institutionalized dogma societies overblown the definition of _boring._

He just dwelled a bit on his wanderings when he watched the cinematic record of a young inventor, the same action he performed so many countless times before without bothering or thinking. This young man's discoveries seemed to be rather intriguing and fascinating: he had been trying to produce and create a method for pictures to move. Moving pictures, a form to save the time and memories in more dimension than a simple frozen photograph. This process would most like be dismissed with a shrug by any other Shinigami, as this concept was actually the same exact essence of their task - of the cinematic record - but to him it was fascinating. Humans had no access to these moving pictures; who knew when or how they would? It would bring a whole new vision of the past and future for the world. Even them, the Grim Reapers, held this priviledge of watching this record of lives and yet they never watched it twice - why would they, amongst thousands?

Instead, the young inventor was bludged into the head by a jealous brother, an event completely unrelated to the promising invention. This life was not deemed an important benefit for society to be spared - that one luxury Shinigami had, and never applied. So his job was to reap the body of this young man, examine his life and that intriguing invention, categorize it with that simple stamp on that mundane and simple file with basic information and so finish the collection of the soul.

He didn't return to their higher-ups with the properly stamped reports, nor did he leave the young man's dead body where it was suppose to be. Nor was the young man _dead_ as he should be, exactly. The cinematic record was attached to the body and the soul - severing it would effectively end the examination of the life they had to do and collect the soul, ending the life of the person. Failing to do so would make room for creatures such as demons to pry.

He wanted to play the cinematic record again. He wanted more time - that young man probably wanted more time too, even if perhaps this state wasn't exactly what he wished for.

But oh, was Death boring and old fashioned. All those rules one should never break, all those _'never interfere with human affairs',_ all those definitive and unchangeable THE ENDs.

He honestly did not intend to do anything, or thought of the possibility at that time. He was curious. Curiosity led to a reaction of excitement to play that cinematic record, to wonder and question some 'what ifs'. What if time could extend to himself and allow him to play the cinematic record; what if time could extend to the young man, what would have happened and changed in the world thanks to that inventor?

Excitement brought the smile. And what was it that he was once told? _"If something makes me smile, I suppose that's what makes me happy."_ Such a dull and cheap answer, but whichever opinion that was, happiness was a change he had started to feel after that one time, the baby that smiled at him. It might still be a reaction rather than an emotion, but whom was he to be picky on the subject?

.

Something felt rather hypocritical about the whole ordeal, when some coworkers came for him as if he had commited a terrible crime, but he couldn't quite pinpoint why he thought of hypocracy out of all things. He was already done anyway - the cinematic record kept ending, even if he didn't sever the soul. It replayed, reaching the same END. The young inventor, however, had died and felt different, like something was missing. If the coworker that babbled monotonely about it was to be believed, it happened because of _the soul having left the body - "and now prone to be picked by disgusting demons, all thanks to you."_ The speeches and due punishments and whatnot, rather flat and tiresome. He felt no need for any of it again, any of the neverending cycle of burocratic work they did, meant to be unchangeable penance until they could some nevercoming day be redeemed.

Hm. Hypocratic... Well, he'd think about it some other time.

He hardly minded the marks left on his body, whatever that increasing punishment was for his _deserting thoughts._ They weren't just thoughts - if they wanted to brand him a deserter, he would at least actually desert.

(The branded scars he left on the fellow coworker were slightly different from his own - ironic, Death could die too. It didn't make him smile or frown, he simply registered it along with all the mental annotations of the past hours - time and death. Perhaps they were mutual exclusive after all. Even Grim Reapers can die in due time.)

And so he found himself free. A dead person who had been granted life once, granted change and life again. Unemployed, curious and with awakening reactions to events that would hopefully, eventually, turn into emotions.

Now what to do.

.

Well, he couldn't exactly dwell with some underworld creatures such as himself. These realms held no real interest to him; and he would never abide some demon-infested place. Demons would never evoke too much interest in him - all right, maybe not _never;_ hardly. Who knows what changes his life would bring him?

Demons played with lives differently than he could be accused of having done.

He hardly had to think much on the subject - of course he knew what to do now, where he would start to live and start to observe and learn. Time and change weren't on the underworld's side, but on the side of the humans.

His current aspect was likely cringeworthy for most humans though - oh these scars bled quite a bit. For some reason, the pain was welcomed. It was creating a reaction of memoir rather than destruction, overcoming one part of one's life and accepting it to move forward. The thought sounded rather human to him.

So, to live amongst humans was needed to be able to watch and learn with them. Watch their lives and deaths and let his curiosity and questions run unbounded and unrestricted.

He wouldn't know how to live with humans in his current state. He wanted to be more than his emotionless burocratic self up until that point, but for now, an observer was what he knew how to be.

And his comfort zone _was_ death. Past the boringness of it, perhaps, but yet.

 _"So are you some sort of undertaker?"_

 _"In a way."_

Well child, it so happened to be true indeed.

.

London was a pit of human nature - the highest and exquisitest nobility swirling in together with the wretched and starving forlorned. Quite a nice place to start.

To take the step from living out of death as a Shinigami to living out of death as a human was so easy he almost feared it would spoil his interest.

But it was so easy to live out of death in a place like this.

.

And it was so funny to scare people with his scars.

And so interesting to watch them mourn their loved ones.

And so interesting to see them sneer at their fallen enemies.

And so interesting to witness their ways to cause suffering to their victims.

Humans sure had a lot of reactions and emotions to share and teach him.

.

The Undertaker. Befitting.

It was only a matter of time -change, possiblity- for his path to cross with the small human who unknowingly and unwillingly helped spark his sense of self back to him.

Who would think? That one mundane death case so long or so little ago, turned so extraordinary.

Life was so interesting.

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 _1843_

With so many death parlors and morticians and undertakers, he had quite a special share of bodies and funerals on his own, which he found wonderful. The banality of death was evolving and changing, turning interesting when judging all the factors involved and around it and how special death turned all of them.

When he arranged for the coffin and burial preparations of some nobleman with a fancy name, he recognized the name to be carved forevermore on the stone cross he'd lift on the cemetery.

Phantomhive.

.

One of the joys of living amongst humans was sleeping whenever he so desired. Other example of the many joys of living in this guise of mortician were coffins. The dead had no idea what they were missing while alive.

Coffins were his favorite thing in the world. Cosy and carved like a tailored suit - they were a pleasure to build and to use.

One of the biggest joys of living was to sleep inside coffins and scare people who found him like so. So entertaining.

So it weren't accidents at all that he left the parlor's door open for innocent unknowing people to be greeted by him like so.

The soft ringing bell on the door woke him on his afternoon nap, and the heeled steps echoed through the shop as the guest approached the balcony. He opened the lid of the coffin and peeked. His eyesight had not improved, and seeing the world behind the curtain of hair did not help, but he quickly grew to appreciate how it evolved every other sense. The blurred shape had the contours of a dress gown, the steps from prior echoing in the distinct pacing of a noblewoman and not a man. A young woman, by the lack of glimmering jewelery. There was something about the scent of her clothes, too. A young wealthy lady coming to visit. Alone, no handmaiden or husband or butler of any sort.

Well, she would be startled, but at least she wouldn't have anyone to worry about witnessing that.

"Welcome, my lady."

She did turn on her heels and lowered her slightly widened gaze to the coffin on the end of the parlor, but her perfect regal posture blinked the surprise away. Rather than yell at the morbid oddity and she smiled.

Well, it was he who was surprised instead.

"Hello, Mr Undertaker."

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to be continued

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 **Author's Note:** Edit: I like the idea of a terribly nearsighted, near-blinded by proxy, Undertaker. Book of Atlantic added to the blurriness in his pupil, did you notice?

I don't even know, honestly. I blame the music for how I'm feeling writing this :)

I didn't mention last chapter, but I'm building an inspirational playlist for this and I like to list this kinda stuff. I've been listening to all sorts of songs that have the Undertaker-vibe for me: **dark circus and burlesque themed** playlists on youtube and 8tracks (as well as lots nostalgic **Evanescence** songs cause I have little access to anything else on my work and music is always helpful) until I finally snapped some sense into myself and recalled the perfect ambience in my mind belongs to **Diablo Swing Orchestra.** Specially 'The Butcher's Ballroom' album. Blame it on DSO.

Thank you for reading, hope you can review and point out mistakes. Last cliffhanger I made is still hanging quite painfully, so let's hope this doesn't join it


	3. Lady Claudia

"We have met before," Claudia recalled, clearly not as surprised as most people would be to see the mortician rise from a coffin on the floor. And was still in said place, as he had been the one most surprised with the visitor.

"My my, but of course," he cleared his throat, grinning before even knowing and stepping out of the coffin. He patted some invisible dust off his black robes. His hat had been abandoned on the front counter and he promptely returned it to its proper place on his head and to pin the bangs of hair over his face. "I remember you, Lady Claudia. Some years now, it would seem."

Claudia seemed pleased.

He approached her direction, and she did not seem to mind. The blurriness over her dispelled however slightly, but enough for him to get a better image of her. Her height might mistake her age to the unattentive casual eye - even though, in this era, a casual eye would hardly be sent her direction - nobility was blatantly clear in her pose, not so much from her tailored dress as much as it was from her somewhat frigid, beautiful but stern features. Young women did tend to surpass men's height with ease, specially between the age of thirteen to fifteen, but Claudia was particularly tall. The imprint of her little child self, with the tattered disguise and haughty curious look still appeared on his mind, and he could see it on Claudia's face now. Still, the contrast that remained on the other little aspects was wonderful.

"Yes, well, I've grown," she said as if knowing what his thoughts were. Probably they were common between humans who stayed apart for years and were reunited? "You look roughly the same. It was impossible not to recognize you at the cemetery. Even though you are less regal."

What a funny choice of words. "Regal? I never thought someone like me would be called that."

"Either way, you being at the cemetery wouldn't be too odd, yet I'll be completely honest and say that I'm relieved."

"That your relative died?" He was trying to follow her mental process.

"Well, it's life isn't it?" she dismissed the subject with such simplicity he couldn't help but blink and chuckle. Life and death were so fascinating! How could she barely give it a thought? "For some time I've wondered whether I had imagined you or if you were real, and which case scenario would be the best one for me. "

"Oh?" Still trying to follow her mental process.

"Regardless. I'll leave that to another day of wander. All this has always fascinated me. You were a sight to boost interest rather than a trigger for it to begin with. And now being here, I expect I can visit?"

"Ah?"

"I think you'll understand."

"Oooh?" He was chuckling rather clearly by now, and Claudia's stern expression was starting to peek a reaction at it, her eyebrow arching ever so slightly.

"It's hardly a subject that most like to discuss, even within my family... the hypocracy of it, really... but death and...

She cut her words and narrowed her eyes at him, as if he had suddenly interrupted her.

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't be discussing this with you, a stranger. Yet... well. It's not like you'll be shouting it to the four winds." He was far too entertained to even try to follow anything anymore. "I am almost certain you out of everyone will not frown at the " _fascination of the macabre"_."

"Considering my field of business, I'd be surprised if I did," he replied simply, cheeks slightly pinching by now, and waved casually to their surroundings.

"Yes, precisely," her pleased look returned. "I will therefore be visiting you at times, with questions. Talking means you can still work, so I take it will not be much an inconvenience for you."

"Nooone~"

"Good." She smiled, and her child features shined through. "I do wish I could start right away with a debate, but I do find myself with a shortage of time. But well, while I'm on it, may I ask if you happen to have books of interest? Medical, philosophical or otherwise."

Perhaps someone else would expect a mortuary to have merely medical books - maybe to have none at all, should it be a very poor, borderline clandestine mortician - maybe to have a panoply of forbidden and profane titles. Claudia seemed quite convinced he would have a vast library (which indeed he wouldn't mind to, and was working to that goal) of all things macabre (which indeed he did not).

"I'm afraid I only have medical books."

"And about the occult? Witchcraft, satanism, occultism overall?"

The mere words brought an unpleasant shiver down his spine. He almost didn't note how indeed, Claudia was quite straightforward on these matters, or as he would find out eventually, any matter at all. Deserter or not, the subject - and mention of anything related - of demons and their rotten filth would always be distasteful to him. It was hardly a matter he was too interested in to begin with, with his curiosity being turned to humans - not the beyond, where monsters and THE END lingered.

"I currently do not, no. But I certainly know who would have such titles in their possession. As of the moment, I am afraid I have solely anatomic tomes. Maybe some thanatology tomes."

Part of him knew he shouldn't be surprised with Claudia's knowledge of such terms, and yet the other part was charmed and surprised to see her nod.

"Any subjects in specific?"

Claudia left with a volume of human dissection and taxidermy.

.

She returned one week later.

"A simple coffin, isn't it? Does the job right, I suppose. After all, it's dirt and maggots for all of us down there."

Claudia raised her upper body from the coffin. She only noticed his extended hand a moment later, accepting it and stepping out of the coffin.

"How long does it take you to make one of these?"

"Coffins are surprisingly easy to craft," he replied, picking the said exemplary and returning it to the furthest wall of the shop. He had to attend to its intended occupant soon after Claudia left.

"Even the smaller ones?" she asked meanwhile. "Always heard the saying how they're the heaviest."

"I do not disagree with the saying. Some lives are too short. Coffins are certainly the heaviest for the people that do mourn their small occupants. I've found that's actually a rarity in this age." He saw her focused frown as he turned and returned to her side. "They're not the hardest to craft."

"You had that one custom made?" she asked again, this time pointing to the coffin on the farthest end.

"It does fit you to perfection. And yes, I did customize it for its occupant."

"So I suppose the family paid for it?"

"I like to customize my coffins even if the clients don't have people interested in doing so."

"So this client, the occupant, just happens to have my measurements."

"Apparently so."

His increasing amusement over Claudia's unexpected visit, with such an odd request out of everything brought a renewed smile to his face as the gears in her mind spinned to place, confirming his own suspicions. Her question if he was currently working on a coffin, and request to try his newest one, together with the attempted dismissive questions that yet were clear to him.

"Is it possible for me to see her body?"

.

Obviously in his line of work, this cover up as mortician ( _Mr Undertaker..._ ) to learn and blend with humans, he quickly became quite acquaintanced - or reunited - with the spectre of darkness that dipped - or soaked - the human world. This line where his world and the humans' blended so effortlessly, this underworld where common people should not venture and yet so many were plundered and butchered into.

The young women that were killed continously the previous days were clearly related to each other, the same murderer creating some personal form of entertainment. Only one of the girl's family had approached for a decent burial of the poor victim; the others had been delivered through the police, retrieved from the streets. Dumped in the gutters like trash.

Two of them had been dragged out of East's End by children. He saw them leaving the corpses nearby busier streets so the police could find them.

.

Claudia's interest in the macabre was fascinating. Despite that first impression from her words related to her Phantomhive relative, life and death seemed to as an appealing subject to her as it were to him, and their conversations would reveal themselves to be very compelling and interesting.

The real motive as to why she visited him did not escape his notice, and soon she didn't care to hide it anymore. The young murdered women.

.

He attended to the young women with all his care, knowing it was simultaneously a solace for their families, respect for them and cleaning after the murderer.

He kept the lace straps the girls had on their wrists. Claudia added them to the ones she got from the police, which in turn had been collected from around the victims' bloodied necks, the cuts deep enough to be fatal.

"But these signs in their pupils are a sign of asphyxiation," Claudia had said upon watching the very first victim.

She was walking back and forth through the shop, hand thoughtfully placed below her lips. The past week had met another victim. Claudia had visited twice.

"His only pattern is the age. And the method of killing of course. And yet, the police doesn't notice the straps on their right wrist? It's the same bloody lace from their nooses. And this method of killing is just double brutality. Why cut them after they're dead? And the lace later?"

"I did find the bracelets to be interesting," he commented, placing one of the embalm pots back in its place.

"Bracelets?" she turned. She kept her disguises from her childhood days. But with her hair tied up like it was, she looked older.

"Don't they look like bracelets to you?"

"So, the lace in their necks would make turns for a necklace?"

"Perhaps. Most clients didn't get to me with their necklaces, thanks to the police keeping the lace with them."

"So, lace... it suggests someone with wealth, right? More likely so than the alternative, that we could be dealing with a thief that keeps scavaging after lace."

"Maybe."

"Lace... I should investigate a rich person? Maybe a tailor? Too wide a spectrum, but it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Dollmakers use lace too."

She turned again.

"Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "I find a surprising amount of people have a fascination with dolls."

"I like dolls too," she added, and he blinked in interest. "But normally it's associated with small children. These victims are fourteen. One year older than me."

He shrugged again.

"Slightly older dolls are still dolls."

.

"May I ask why the interest?"

"About?"

He had yelded to accompain her on a 'sneaking mission' to a toy shop closer to East End, and while they waited for whatever Claudia was curious in, he might as well ask what _he_ was curious in.

"This. These murders."

"People are being killed. It's only natural to want to find out and stop such murders."

"For the police, maybe."

"The police doesn't care."

"It's part of the reason why I'm asking. A noblewoman doesn't normally interest herself in these things."

"I thought I told you from the get go I had different interests," she said in annoyance, not turning to him and still fixed on the entrance of the shop, while hiding in their corner and adjusting her cap to keep her restlessness at bay.

"Yes, which is extremely lovely. But..."

"Will you shut up if I tell you I am in a mission for Her Majesty?"

"The Queen Victoria?"

"Is there another I don't know of?"

"I suppose there are others who aren't relevant to the subject."

"Then leave the subject be. I am her Watchdog. Or will be either way. Leave it."

He grinned, resting his head against the wall. He wasn't as committed as Claudia was in this sneaking mission. While they waited, he entertained himself with knowing Claudia was a special servant of the Queen.

And with the knowledge that Her Majesty The Queen Victoria wouldn't really take much interest in what, for all effects and purposes, were common murders.

.

Claudia formed a plan.

Following his suggestion, she was set in the possibility that the murder could be a toy maker - a rather sick variation of dolls therefore were mirrored on his victims. It added a tailor's access to lace for sewing, sharp objects like scissors for the cuts in their necks, and possibly some more monetary access... but all these were circumstantial. A tailor would meet the same criteria. A partnership between two people, dollmaker and tailor,could work as well. She was following his presentiment, hardly much else.

Not discarding the possibility of using herself as a bait, which would be the downright most logical choice, she decided to keep watch to find a possible future victim. Given the number of corpses, it shouldn't take long, and it didn't. She chose the toy shop near East End given his information about those two young women who had been dragged out of there by the forlorn children. It was convenient to find possible victims.

Their sneaking mission concluded the obvious; children peeked at the showcased toys and porcelain dolls with a shine in their eyes, but almost none entered. The toymaker did not come outside until late night when the shop was closed.

A second day of watchful sneaking, and a young woman with tattered clothes admired the showcased dolls, and the owner came out and made a small conversation with her.

Claudia's plan was simple.

If the same young woman came by again, and entered the shop, Claudia would follow. It would undoubtely alert the toymaker if he was indeed the murder, but her intention was simple: while distracting the possible murderer by offering another possible victim, she would assess the dolls within the shop in search for lace matching the same as the victims.

It would work as dead proof for her. The lace on the victims had a far too distinct pattern to miss.

It was her own presentiment that, if a dollmaker was killing young women in a sick twist of dolls, he would be keeping a souvenir of them. And if they had a 'necklace' and a 'right bracelet', the 'left bracelet' was missing. It would be a telltale sign if someone saw it.

But no one was looking for anything.

On that night, he asked her:

"What if I was the murderer, Lady Claudia?" A very plausible possiblity. He had given her the hunch of a dollmaker, he had means to dispose of victims. Could be aiming to kill her.

"I know you."

"I don't really see how a couple of..."

"I saw you when I was a child, remember?"

 _And as a baby, and in both cases around death._

"You don't kill people. Death isn't cruel. It's just there. People are the cruel ones."

.

Claudia didn't intend to kill the murder. She intended to give definitive proof for the police to not stay iddle and intervene.

For that, she would need his help.

The two young women from East End that the police had never seen.

With a contribution of her dress collection, properly altered and ruined as to befit the victims, he changed the poor girls' denouncing tattered clothes into hers, turning them into noblewomen after death. They had their original 'necklaces' and 'bracelets' which they could return.

Claudia added a shred of doll dress, that she cut off a porcelain doll of the shop before being kicked out. A porcelain doll with white lace on collar and cuffs, the pattern just distinct enough between right and left cuffs.

They left the two girls on the street.

.

Claudia's parents were outside the mortuary when she approached. He recognized the stern features of Lady Phantomhive as inherited from Claudia's grandmother, and in turn passed on (softened) to Claudia. The moment he took to recall the stern, mean and bored Shinigami that old lady had become was actually funny.

"I just wanted to tell you," Claudia said swiftly, without so much as a greeting. "The preparator of the murders as been caught."

"Yes, I know. He won't really sit on a cell, however. He's going to more premanent quarters."

"Oh. Well, not a great loss then, is it." Beneath the family sterness, she did sound pleased. After all, the culprit was a twisted murderer. His own murder at the hands of East Enders wasn't far from poetic justice. "Thank you for your help. It was quite important."

"You're welcome to try my coffins any time, Lady Claudia."

"And for your books. I've finished the dissection one."

"I am acquiring some titles of other subjects for you."

She nodded and turned to her parents, but halted a moment and turned back at him.

"And for your company. Our conversations have been quite pleasant."

.

to be continued

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* * *

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 **Author's Note:** I've been writing so much in this offline time, I actually have 2 chapters fully written, just waiting for typing and editing. Actually 3, counting with this one.

Like I said before, Claudia considers her encounter with Undertaker in her childhood to have been an encounter with Death. So she wanders if it's good because she met him and was spared, or bad because she might have hallucinated the whole ordeal.

Thanks to MassiveMilkshakeNerd, xenocanaan, Fushia Flame, furryfelines1 and to everyone who takes time to read. Thanks for your time, please point out mistakes.

(I'm typing this while watching a playthrough of Outlast 2 playing on side-by-side windows. It's been quite an experience lol ahah)


	4. What if

**Author's Note:** I like to think that my inspiration from Lady Violet from Downton Abbey has started to be noticeable and hopefully pleasant.

You might have noticed from past chapter as well that this also has some murders and more or less implied descriptions. This one has the death of a child.

.

* * *

.

"The Queen's Watchdog."

"It's supposed to be a secret."

He chuckled under his breath.

"Shouldn't that title be inherited?"

"Well, it is. But I'm training."

He watched, amused, as Claudia pulled her hair back and proceeded to polish the tattered look by pulling and ruffling some strands out of place.

"Training by solving murders."

"It's part of the job. Her Majesty cares a lot for her people."

"It does seem unlikely to me that Her Majesty the Queen would take an interest in such - putting it plainly - common murders of teenage girls."

Claudia didn't even flinch.

"Those were my own investigations. The subject bothered me and it's good training. I've been doing so since a child."

"So you do admit Her Majesty wouldn't take a slightest bit of interest in them otherwise?"

"I have said no such thing. You should mind your manners. It's the Queen we're talking about."

.

Claudia's brow was scarred by a deep line, weighting down her expression to sadness and anger. It caught his attention. However, he remained quiet for some moments. The silence crushed the air around them.

"I imagine you'll be seeing a lot more of this as you become the Queen's Watchdog."

"I know that. It doesn't bother me. It angers me."

"Are the two not entwined, my dear?"

Claudia didn't seem annoyed with him. Her focus and emotions were too fixed on the child to engage in their regular sharp replies he had grown so fond and amused by.

"I know justice hardly should even be mentioned. It's just how it is. But whichever thoughts and reality we are bound to, it always feels wrong when it's children."

She turned her gaze up to him then.

"Are you too used to this to feel anything? To question? Is it better to not wander at all?"

"Wander about?"

"What could have been. The what if. Some lives are too short."

The thought brought the tiniest of smiles to his lips.

"I do wander. Maybe for selfish reasons."

"Selfish?"

"I'm curious. About what could have happened next. What they could have accomplished."

"That's not selfish at all. I wander for the exact same reasons. I just said so. _'Why now?' 'What if?'_ This boy could have become someone important. Affected the lives around him for good or bad. Or maybe he would only live to suffer and wish it to end. What if he hadn't turned that corner, what if someone had helped? Regardless, if he had lived, he would have had possibility, chance. Change."

The heaviness in the air remained, Claudia's rage still weighting in the mortuary and confining it the emotional whirlwind that most humans probably attributed to a house of death and the mourning process. And yet, here he was, feeling that foreign heaviness in his chest brought from her, now turning into a sense of joy.

How wonderful. He could discuss this subject with someone, finally. Without his views or questions being stamped as sacrilegious.

"It really does bring the thought of whether this particular existence would be doomed to suffer," Claudia continued, eyes lowered to the boy again, staring at the holes where his eyes should have been. "If not to die in this manner, to die in a similar one later on. But when I wander about this, it always comes up as this: it's the inbetween that would have been relevant."

She sighed, but a sharp hiss rather than a gloomed exhale.

"Really, this whole wandering... even if this boy would have lived a life of pain, it would be his. To grow and reach adulthood at the very least. He should ellect to end it by own his means then. Not have someone else ravage it away this barbaric way.

Finally, he realized it. That young man and his invention, that moving pictures invention which had seemed so interesting to see concluded.

It had been his own selfish reasons to take his body away and play the cinematic record in a vain attempt of wandering the continuation that never would happen. It had not been a selfless act, like Claudia made it sound - _he_ was curious. Then the whole ordeal with the the Grim Reapers, those endlessly painfully boring accusations and punishment. It had seemed hypocritical to him then, something about the whole ordeal.

Finally he saw it.

They couldn't temper with human life, not affect or change death. That _'salvation'_ Grim Reapers could attribute to a human soul never happened. Even if it was a promising inventor who could perhaps change the future, or a simple innocent child caught in adults' menace.

But _their_ lives had been tampered with, as they took it on themselves to end it. Shinigami were living, in their own way, when they should be dead. _They_ had a continuation. Their cinematic records should have got 'THE END' they seeked. Instead, they had a continuation. Set in witnessing death and not giving other people a continuation.

(Wasn't that ironic and hypocritical.)

And he couldn't give that to someone else. Life and death weren't his to tamper with. Even if it only brought more pain, they didn't deserve it.

Ah...

He found Claudia, the baby who smiled at Death, this young woman that made him smile. In this unwanted continuation his own life had got, he had got this.

Those fellow Grim Reapers wouldn't allow for that to be given to someone else.

It Claudia was the one to lay on this table tomorrow on the stead of this child, blood poured out into crimson marble on pale skin and ripped organs, Undertaker couldn't give her a continuation.

Ha.

Ha ha.

...Why not?

.

Out of the three books, the last volume stood out in size and sheer amount of omnious aura, its tattered and darknened lether cover and bindings showing its age. The distinctive scent of old dust was impregnated on every page. Claudia's eyes sparkled not too faintly and her lips curved up in that wonderful way, that in this case seemed to provoke a sting of guilt in him rather than the joy he had started to associate with her smile. The book was still safely on his hands.

To any other human, his distinction between her fascination with the macabre and her fascination with the occult were hardly subject to any distinction at all. One wasn't worst than the other. This age of Victorian England had more than interests in death and beyond, yet too much of it (or past any socially ever-changing boundaries) and even a young noblewoman could still be frown upon. Granted unwanted attention and measures against that over interest.

To him, the fascination with the occult was a dangerous path he was guiding her towards.

"That one seems wonderful."

"This is not for the Queen either, is it?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

He laid the book on the table, slightly reluctant to do so, but even more relunctant to keep it longer.

"Are you working on any case for the Queen that revolves around these matters?"

"Not presently, no. It's for my own amusement."

His face, where his own smile had stayed almost constantly after this child appeared in this life, quivered to a frown.

By opposite, Claudia was amused by his frown. "I sense someone doesn't like the subject."

"It's a matter that easily turns distasteful."

"Distasteful? What are you saying? What have we been talking about for the past months?"

Apparently, Claudia herself did no distinction between macabre and occult.

He thought of how to explain without adding to that sense of guilt. With Claudia's endless search for knowledge, he just didn't want to be the one to push her to perils her youth and past successes would work to make her reckless.

Claudia didn't question where his own knowledge of occult matters came from - if from that big old book, if from his own experience with the underworld and beyond. She listened, fascinated, as he knew she would, and held the book against her lap, even more eager to devour the contents and make her own assessements.

"Demons. So they do exist."

"Don't get involved with the likes of them."

"They steal the souls that are yours?"

"I don't take anyone's soul."

"But they do take souls. What if..."

He had stepped to the side of the balcony, a reflexed way to withdraw from the subject, and raised his eyes back to her. Not that she could see it, but she sensed his gaze.

"Well, you are concerned for _me_ , out of all people," she chuckled, but wasn't trying to be smug. Not more so than what usually bled through. "You think ingoring the subject all together is the answer? What if I come across a case of occultists or satanists? What if I come across a demon itself?"

 _I sincerely hope not._

"Learning more can only be a benefit. I'll know what to do and how to act, what to look for and what not to."

"I found the books for you either way, did I not, Lady Claudia?"

"So you are patronizing my search for knowledge."

Precisely the source of his guilt, as unfounded and paranoid as it might appear to be.

"Take care with what you learn."

"You should not say something like that."

.

 _1844_

"Undertaker."

"Hm~?"

"Here. I finished your books. Thank you for the trouble of finding them."

"It was nothing. I'm glad to be of help."

"I wasn't too impressed with their contents. I much prefered your conversation with me that day."

"Well... I appreciate our conversations very much as well."

Claudia approached one the coffins laying against the wall.

"If I do find a demon, you'll be my side and protect me, will you not?"

He halted for a moment before finishing to resupply the self with the newest embalming oils he got. He didn't bother asking where her confindence on his skills came from. Any other person might ask, but it was pointless for him.

"Of course I will, Lady Claudia."

"You would not be worried, would you?"

"Only if you were in danger. I enjoy your company too much."

"Not about yourself?"

"No."

He heard her chuckle, turning to see her smile, the regal imprint too clear on her features.

"I pity the demon that may come across you. Cunning as they might be, they are not stupid. Not even they can escape Death."

 _._

"Oh I've had it with this wretched hair."

Those were the only warning words he got. Clearly more than enough, but it still made Claudia's swiftness remarkable. He had little time to do much else rather than blink when the comfortable and familiar weight of his hat simply disappeared off his head, and blink again when the soft and warm fingers flew over his forehead, brushing the bangs off his eyes.

From her end, Claudia didn't so much as blink, turning on her heels with a swirl and quickly scouring through a handbag that clearly had magically appeared out of nowhere. Another spin and she started brushing and pinning hairpins here and there. And he stood there, too stunned to move - which actually wasn't for long. Standing at least - Claudia might be tall, but he did tower over her. So the logical thing would be for him to sit. And she forced him down into a chair.

A nearly (as specifically enhanced by her) fourteen year old young woman forcing down a rather tall adult man into a chair so she could throw hair this and that way. Basically, the situation was ridiculously comical.

Was he getting attended to in a similar fashion as he attended his guests at the mortuary? Also, it did seem to be the first time he recalled to witness a lady to be so readily taking into her what was typically handmaiden's tasks. He tried to tease her on that regard, but he was sharply shushed.

"Ladies should be versatile. You should know by now I am quite capable on a number of things 'ladies' are not thoroughly endowed."

"Well, you win~"

"I am quite aware of how many would find me suitable for an asylum. And hairdressing would definitely be the last aspect they'd stamp on me."

Agreeing with her words, he fell silent and behaved as the young Lady Claudia scattered and arranged and pinned hair locks together, her composed and focused self mirroring that of a child playing with her doll.

Dolls. See? A lot of people like dolls.

The thought of ending moments like this felt unpleasantly sad.

"Phew. Much better, I'd say."

Before looking at his reflection, what he did know of the grown lady's child play was that his face was so painfully exposed to all light (or whatever light) the candles shove through the darkness. His eyes adjusted to it, and adjected to the blur his eyesight was even without the locks of hair over his face. And he looked up at Claudia, but she had already turned her back to him, looking around the shop for something. Rather than ask him, she took her time before sighing very loudly and turning to her magically appearing handbag. She returned with a silver handmirror she placed very close to his face - she knew.

And indeed, his reflection stared back at him, unnatural eyes blinking at the sight of his scars after so long. He did not recall ever seeing the soft wrinkles of a smile around them.

"See? You should not hide your eyes behind glasses or hair."

He smiled again.

"Not everyone reacts like you, Lady Claudia."

"Pity. The best thing about life is knowing it will end. Knowing that makes everything else worth living. And your eyes are beautiful."

He chuckled at her uncharacteristic compliment, and even more so at her immediate chastising of his reaction.

.

The elaborated hairstyle lasted only so much. But it was pleasant. And beautiful.

And the only easy thing about it were the braids.

Under his untrained hands, all he could hope to achieve was one simple braid, falling next to his face down to his hip. It was a strangely calm feeling to work on it. The simplicity of it felt as pleasant as hearing Claudia laugh. And to feel the symetry under his fingers when he stroked his hair felt like a reminder of those same smiles and laughs.

"Taken something out of our braiding lessons?" The sly smile on her lips was the first thing he saw on her next visit.

Undertaker smiled.

"Indeed I have. Thank you, Lady Claudia."

.

to be continued

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* * *

.

 **Author's Note:** Yes, Undertaker only took the name and started addressing/thinking of himself that way in this chapter.


	5. The Queen's Watchdog

**Author's Note:** 'To be continued' fanfics are clearly not something I am good at.

Time skip. Claudia is 17 here.

 **Warning:** There's suicide conversations under the light of a morbid enthusiast and a Shinigami.

.

* * *

.

 _1847_

.

"Undertaker?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're a special oddity, aren't you."

"Eh? Special? You think so?"

"I've known you since forever."

"Seventeen years and... precisely six months, my dear. Forgive me but dare I say, that's hardly forever."

Claudia squinted at him, all height and weight of her long and experienced seventeen years of life expressing their offence.

"I was trying to compliment you. It was flattery. Could you just take it as it is? Obviously I know what you are."

"Oh~"

"Am I going to be the one to point out you don't age? People are soon going to start to make their assumptions and feed their imaginations with your looks and work. I'm surprised I haven't heard rumours you kidnap young maidens to drink their blood. God knows you'd know how to hide their bodies."

"Ha ha ha, Claudia, my dear. Vampires don't exist."

"They don't?"

"Rest assured, they do not. Only Humans would drink each others blood."

She seemed disappointed. Undertaker cackled under his breath.

"Don't tell me you hoped vampires exist?"

"Well, there's demons and there's you. Surely there's more out there." The imprint of her child self was so deeply engarved on her teenage features it was almost adorable. She _did_ want more monsters in the world!

Even between the chuckling, Undertaker took once again notice how, although she always knew, she never called him by the name. Grim Reaper. Death. Not directly - it gave an omnious aura to the name. How long would it be until someone said it out loud again?

"Are all monsters human, then?"

"Almost all of them."

"Some would think that as a paradox, perhaps. I really hoped there would be more to be seen."

"There is. But when it comes to the monsters you seek, indeed, humans give birth to most of them."

"So the _'real'_ monsters are human beings. Our nature enables us to be more despicable than the likes of demons."

"It also enables you to be more complex and interesting."

Claudia blinked at his words, assessing them as she drank her tea.

.

The Earl Phantomhive passed away that year.

.

The grief he had started to see in other people finally struck Claudia - and the pain it brought him was striking.

The death was fully unrelated to him - it was Claudia's father, not his immediate acquantance - but it was related to her. Her sorrow resonated in him like it was his own - a feeling he had not experienced in the longest of times.

The sorrow and mourning his guests and clients showed finally reached someone he cared for, and by extent, him.

Undertaker did not question the Earl's death. The illness was surprisingly swift in its corrosion of the man's health and body, but it wasn't dreadful. The Shinigami that had been tasked with that particular name on the list of the day wouldn't have taken long to finish their analysis - just another death, not a gruesome one, just another day's work.

The man lived his life, and surely had more dreams and intentions he would never see fulfilled. But that's...

...life. Life is death.

The _pain_ was what caught his attention that time.

The pain of mourning. Of the loss.

It shouldn't hurt, not anymore.

But it did. Not for the man, but for Claudia's pain, her tears, her loss of such an important person in her life.

Undertaker knew it would be alright for her - the pain would pass. But the current pain was...

...Not interesting. Heartbreaking.

How sad it would be, if she would never smile again.

.

And together with all the grief, the new Queen Watchdog began her work.

.

How sad it would be, should Claudia-

.

"When does the concept of death become boring?" Claudia asked as her butler finished pouring the black tea into the cup in front of her.

The gleaming early sunset painted the guest room in warm and calm tones. Again, in this otherwise gloom and foggy London so often drained of colour, it didn't fail to registed in Undertaker's mind how curious it was that the previous visits to the Phantomhive summer house had the same colorful lighting.

Undertaker picked the cup the butler poured to him, thanking the man and drinking the tea without care for etiquette. Claudia didn't see overly fased by it, and sipped at her tea. The scent of fresh lemon that had been added to it was wonderful.

"Death itself is boring," he started. "I used to think that for quite some time. Then slowly, I questioned it, and it opened up an entire new view of life. Death is not usually questioned, considering the pointlessness of doing so, but I did. In time, I think... I've started to rediscover it's fascination."

"Fascination with death?"

"Hmm~"

"How so?" Claudia pressed after the butler had excused himself and left the room. "In the matter of it attributing value to life?"

"Life is a fascinating subject to me. Humans are fascinating. My sense of boredom regarding death started to change slightly because of that. Death being such an intricate part of life. It regained a certain appeal to me. Before, I only focused on the effects it had on the person's body, the end of their lives per se. I've grown more attentive to the effects it has to the people surrounding the deceased. Curious to the workings of the body itself, why and how the person dies and what happens inside the body. All privileges that come with my line of work as undertaker."

"I would think it'd grow boring after a small while. A banality. After tragedy is seen too often, it loses its impact."

"Like I said, it was so for quite a while."

"Then you questioned it."

"Yes."

"Like we did those years ago, with the young boy? That victim."

Undertaker recalled it quite vididly. As he recalled that young inventor, years prior. As he recalled the image his mind had produced, of a deceased Claudia ready for burial.

"Yes. Why didn't they get to continue."

"The hardest part of ending is starting again," Claudia said. The phrase seemed to trigger some other question in her mind, but it took her one moment to continue. Undertaker felt her hesitation, which peeked his interest. Claudia wasn't the type of person to hold back in her questions.

The silence hovered a moment longer.

"Have you ever tried to end it? To kill yourself?"

Undertaker's hand stopped for an instant, almost too fast to be seen. But Claudia did. Her interpretation of it was kept to herself, and she waited in silence. When the moment lasted longer than she would have expected it, her features showed a different expression.

"I apologize. I was too blunt." He had never heard Claudia admit an oversight. "I should have kept it to myself."

Undertaker wasn't offended by the question - merely surprised. The time he took to wonder had clearly been too much, and made Claudia falter. Had his scars triggered the question, or had the recent loss had poured more thoughts on Death to her brilliant mind... clearly, he took too long thinking about that rather than answer her.

"I'm the one that should apologize. It's all right." He smiled, to reassure her of the truth of his words. It didn't seem to work. "High dosages of morphine can smother pain, but wrong quantity and you'll be put in an asylum."

"That's how my grandmother took her life," Claudia explained, leaned forward, her posture now stiff.

He smiled again. "I know, child."

Claudia blinked. Even though his tone was no different and his smile was as amused as ever, Undertaker knew she had that spark of dazzle on her eyes as she looked into his, that same silent acknowledgement like when she was a child disguised in tattered clothes; like when she was a baby, smiling beside her grandmother's corpse.

"Maybe that's why I've always been so interested in the other side of life," she added quietly, apparently more to herself. She blinked again and spoke up. "After all these years and despite the age we live in, I think you have certainly seen I don't have many such conversations with just about everyone. Even with the everyone's interested in the dreadful and the morbid... it's always petty how they brand you worthy of an asylum for the smallest mislaps on their book."

"Indeed," he grinned at the memories of the said past years. "But continuing on your question. Yes, I have tried to kill myself. Your grandmother was quite more efficent on her method than I was. From some of my guests' appearances, I see asylums haven't changed much."

Again, memories. How much he liked to smile at them now.

Claudia was eyeing him attentively. Somehow he guessed she was musing on his words, her eyes trailing his scars. It wouldn't be abnormal to think them inflicted by a previous treatment, or his excentric persona to be recommended for one - she couldn't know how he was before the previous long decades.

"Any method you should give preference to," she asked instead, "should you chose how you would die?"

He wanted to wind her mind into more thinking, and so he grinned. "Are you asking me should I chose to end my life, or how I chose to do it?"

The surprise was now on her side, and seeing his grin, she pleasantly took it as a form of dare.

"Either."

"Sharp objects into tender veins can work pretty efficently, if you know which ones to struck. If you struck the wrong ones, it will simply require longer time. And people may intervene."

"That's not how you chose to do it."

Undertaker shrugged, smiling.

Claudia wasn't musing a method of suicide for herself. The topic was just that interesting for her. Other people who might listen to their conversation would wave their heads to this young woman, sinking in grief over her father's death and drowning in the cycle that would grasp her mother; depressive percieved thoughts could send both to asylums.

While the truth was, she was full of life - and the thoughts of death only added more life into her. Full of life, and he would make sure she lived a long one. So these conversations could continue, and their musings about life and death could one day spark something new.

If she ever did intend to end her life, he would be there to stop her.

"What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I've had the greatest of epiphanies on the matter some years ago," Claudia replied, sipping her tea calmly before lowering the cup back and continuing. "One of my intended pretendents... thought-of, considered, interested, whatever the blast he was... got around to court me at a meeting once. A dance, I recall. So I'd join him for a dance. I disliked the boy immediately, but I did try to engage in a conversation. Some interesting one, at least."

"What other type of conversation would you strive for?"

"Horrible experience, I tell you. Or perhaps enlightening, depending on the perspective, as it did work for my epiphany. So, as I was saying, I asked him which literature piece he prefered to discuss. I made a point to start with Shakespeare's _'Hamlet'_."

"I wouldn't take you for another taste."

"I have good taste. But that boy, stupid boy. He was stunned that a lady such as I would waste time on reading, let alone romantic novels. 'Romantic'."

Undertaker chuckled loudly at the phantom of disbelief, borderlining offence, on Claudia's face; a glimpse of the expression she bore on that recalled ocasion. He would have loved to be there, he would have bursted laughing.

"I can but imagine how that went."

"It doesn't leave much to imagination, really. It remains my desired manner of dying. I told him _'A happy woman I would be, if I was to die crushed here and now by a tonful of books, and spared of putting up with your ignorance a second longer'_."

She sipped her tea again, height of nobility, and added:

"And you could write on my tombstone _'Bring more books, the last ones were to die for'_."

The tea in his mouth sprayed everywhere, and he barely minded the coughing he was caught in amongst the laughter. He could barely make out the countours of Claudia on the other side of the table, and just imagining her reaction to his outburst worked to make him laugh harder.

"How dark, Claudia," he managed to gasp between laughter. "That's delightful!"

"Well, it is true, isn't it?" she said, but her composure got betrayed by the cold giggle turning into a chuckle. "Heavens, we sound like dummies. I didn't intend to say something so silly."

And she burst out laughing. Undertaker echoed her, now with the addition of hearing her laugh so carelessly. His chest and tummy almost hurt, most likely from the the straining that had became so utterly foreign for him. He didn't recall ever laughing like this. If he had, it had been a lifetime ago. The contagious shared laughter was too precious for him to mind the aching. It was delightful.

"I'm so sorry, I have a horrible sense of humour!" Claudia tried, her voice so uncharacteristically and comically pinched. Her face had turned rosy and she had glimmering tears framing her eyes. "This is so dumb."

"I love your sense of humour!" Undertaker reassured, his own voice cracking ridiculously and he cackled, loudly out of breath. His tummy was pinching so much he had to hold it while throwing his head back and laughing. He would probably fall down at this pace.

When he thought the moment had calmed down, their need to breathe and adrenaline jolt subsiding, his mind brought back the sight of Claudia and her aristocratic sterness and pragmatic voice saying those hilariously morbid words. A new glimpse between the two of them, and both choked and bursted out laughing.

How to describe this? What was he feeling, other than happiness? The strange, once uncomprehensive thing. Such a foreign thing, now made clear enough to be palpable, blissful torrent. It was strange, the lightness on his chest even though it was heavy from the straining and pinching with the need of oxygen, his lungs protesting for air. Smiling and laughing, those were two signs he was happy, wasn't it?

And he was. If Claudia was the one that brought this, she was the source of his happiness.

And she was.

Undertaker moved his hand to his face, feeling the moisturing of the tears that had to freely and unexpectadly ran from his eyes, trailing over the scars and falling to his lap.

Life was fascinating.

"Ah, goodness. I don't remember when I last laughed like this!" He never thought he could do it again.

Claudia dried a tear from the corner of her own eye, the chuckles making her hand flutter. A renewed wave of laughter reawakened amongst them and left them breathless and crying.

"Ah, how sad it would be," Claudia said, cheeks flushed and smile carved deep in her face, "should laughter disappear."

.

to be continued

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* * *

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 **Author's Note:** Yes, that was a reference to Twlight. I couldn't resist. And Linkin Park lyrics. And that last line is from the manga chapter.

I'm really grateful to every reader, specially **techno** on ao3 and **MassiveMilkshakeNerd.**

I started this fic because the theory of Cedric = Undertaker didn't really appeal to me. Since then, and after reading FollowtheMagpie's fic **_'The encounters that have led us here',_** my opinion has changed.  
This fic, however, will remain unaltered - my initial plan will remain. This will not follow a romantic view. I like that people may love each other without adding sex to the mixture.

I don't normally venture to stuff that's fully AU - or not based on some canon solid stuff - but even if this story will eventually become fully 'AU', I don't care. I'm glad you've read until this moment, and grateful if you like this story until the end.

until some (likely) months from now :)


	6. Life and Change together

**Author's Note:** This chapter is considerably light hearted and long. Honestly, I had a blast. Hope you like it too.

Remember, because this doesn't make them a couple, Undertaker and Cedric are different people here.

I read a bit about Victorian era engagement etiquette but nothing serious or thorough, so this is wildly innacurate and liberal. Claudia is almost 20 at the beginning, a bit past 21 at the end.

Also, I've decided to just dive in on the idea and call Claudia's butler by his name. This is canonverse AU anyways and who knows, it may just be eventually revealed this bit is right.

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* * *

.

 _1850_

The prospect of marriage had never seemed to be the most thrilling one to Claudia. Her love for children had been shared more than once, but both marriage and motherhood had its tolls on her time, even with a panoply of servants at her aid.

Regardless, her engagement was considerably overdue at her age. And with the late Earl Phantomhive no longer amongst the living, he couldn't be the one to take his place in the necessary protocols of wedding preparations. It had been one of Claudia's mother biggest concerns upon the passing of her husband, and she did step up to the task, albeit the sterness that ran on the blood of her side of the family seemed to have thickened and sharpened with widowhood.

After the handwritten noted informing about the engagement, one of those which had been surprisingly sent to Undertaker, Claudia only shared a couple of remarks on her groom. She also shared the flimsy outlook of hers and Lady Phantomhive's discussion on the matter of Claudia remaining indoors, as expected of her in order to follow all the preparations and etiquette of her engagement.

"I see that one went well~"

"Why in hell would I disregard my work for the Queen?" Claudia remarked, pacing back and forth on the funeral parlour.

"I could always provide you the information you require under your mother's watchful eye~"

Claudia shot him a glare that made him chuckle.

"And bring corpses under your wing while you're at it, will you? I'm sure she would love a severed limb on my bride gown."

.

With the fast approaching of the scheduled date, Lady Phantomhive stepped up to her role of family matriarch and scary woman. Soon to be married or not, Claudia was clearly still very much under the rule and order of the widowed noblewoman.

Undertaker scared the life out of the young servant tasked with delivering him a message. Phantomhive servant or not, not just about everyone was used to have a long white hand and black fingernails clasp at their shoulder coming out from a coffin.

After laboriously catching his breath from cackling so hard he fell to the floor, Undertaker accepted the sealed envelope and thanked the servant, who was more than a little eager to run away from the shop and not return until his death.

Still shaking from the laughter, Undertaker read the note. Only to chuckle a bit louder.

 _I have to attend to the final arrangements for my wedding. I am also in severe need of the book we've discussed._

 _Please come by the mansion today at tea time._

 _C.P._

Well.

The Queen's Watchdog was grounded.

.

 _"The book they had discussed"_ was both literal and figurative. Undertaker had come across a small compilation of poems from an apparently suicidal bride (if her words had come to fruition, she had by now reaped more than the soul of her fiancé), as well as a collection of detailed butterfly drawings, research material for the case Claudia had been investigating for the Queen.

"Welcome," the Phantomhive butler had stopped from trying to find the wording he felt were adequate enough for an informant for Claudia, deciding against a formal 'my lord' and an all too informal 'Undertaker'; neither would have upset him in the slightest, but Undertaker had laughed the first time the young man had called him 'lord'.

Undertaker nodded at the man and stepped into the manor, effortless spotting the frigid and scary Lady Phantomhive from the top of the stairs. Her face was the same mask as her late mother, which meant, if she was pleased with her daughter clearly abiding her orders, she betrayed no such expression.

"Tanaka, please keep my daughter and the gentleman company," she ordered, slowly and omniously leaving the soon crowded hall.

Claudia soon appeared on the hall, absolutely exasperated and persued by at least three handmaidens. Her own face seemed to parody her mother's, and it went through a whole hilarious spectrum of helpless panic, bottled up anger and pure relief when she caught his tall dark figure standing in the middle of the hall and enjoying the show.

"Good, you're here. You'll taste just a bit of what Hell feels like."

Undertaker had little time to choke before Claudia's hand locked around his wrist and he flew behind her, finding himself surrounded by the horde of handmaidens and soon after, kilometers of white fabric and lace and a stylist who would likely begin a legacy of eccentric tailors.

.

"Are you familiar with the legends of butterflies being human souls transformed? It's a myth and concept that crosses different cultures."

"I am."

"Interesting, don't you think?" Claudia managed to ask before being squeezed into a corset.

The young butler didn't seem all too comfortable, and knowing or caring nothing about etiquette, Undertaker did have to wonder if any other English noblewoman would have two such male figures anywhere near while said lady was tailoring her wedding dress.

"My lady, should we..." poor Tanaka had tried, met with an immediate death glare that nailed him to the spot.

As for Undertaker, he was currently working as a fabric stand, arms outstrached and holding the more prestine white fabric he had ever came across, even compared to the richest materials he had for some of his guests at the mortuary.

When Claudia returned to the surface after having a huge, torture-device looking thing squeezed from her head to her chest, Undertaker attempted to resume their conversation.

"You were saying~?"

"Ugh. Butterflies. Souls."

"Yes. It's interesting. I do wonder if it's true~" It seemed poetical. Which probably meant it wasn't true. All those suicidal lovers also tried to be poetical and ended up finding the truth of their 'forevermore love' wasn't what they expected. Irony, on the other hand, would be a certain tell the legend were true.

Undertaker had yet to see a soul turn into a butterfly.

"Mr Tanaka! Mr Tanaka!" a voice called from outside. The butler excused himself and left, leaving Undertaker suddenly feeling more forlorned, the only black figure now standing in that raging sea of white.

"Please don't tell me it's visitors," Claudia sighed. "You don't understand how many people I've seen, family members and acquaintances and friends and fiancé friends and God knows who the hell all those people are! It's just a wedding, why does it have to be like I-"

"My lady," the butler soon returned. "Lord Cedric is here to see you."

Claudia let out the loudest growl Undertaker ever thought possible she could produce.

"We are done for today! I can't try a single more corset or have another mere milimeter of a pin near me!"

Claudia failed to evade alone all the tons of gowns she had overlaped on her, and took some long minutes to return to her dark blue dress. Undertaker decided to turn his back during the procedure, and when a hand spinned him around, white fabric swirling along with his black sleeves, Claudia had returned to herself. And equally not pleased.

"Do you feel more enlightened on the look of Hell?"

"I fear Hell isn't as amusing as this has been, no."

Leaving behind the handmaidens and tailor, Claudia crossed the corridor in a hasteful pacing. The two figures kept following her like before.

"Can you give me the book?"

"Yes," he had managed to hold the small book containing the poems and the butterfly illustrations even while working as a stand. Claudia held on to the book like a child getting a much antecipated present.

"Thank you."

"So... Lord Cedric?" Undertaker asked, smiling.

"You were bound to meet him, I suppose this as good as a time as any."

"I am curious~"

"He's a doof sometimes, but he's far sharper than those other windheads my parents introduced me to since I was 14." Claudia elaborated.

"Other windheads? I don't recall those others. Except that young lad you mentioned, the death epiphany one."

"Well you're not a central figure in my life, are you? I do have a private life."

"Hee hee, you do~ and it includes pins and needles."

It was a good thing Claudia didn't carry a knife or a gun in the house.

At least he thought she didn't.

"Aren't you happy?" Strange as it may be, they had yet to talk about that particular aspect of Claudia's engagement.

Claudia scoffed uncharacteriscally, taking a moment to respond.

"He makes me laugh."

"I'd take that as a yes, then...?"

"Yes."

"Then..."

"I'm _grounded_ , for heaven's sake! Grounded! Who does my mother think I am? I'm not a child anymore! I have work to do, work I can conciliate with the wedding, but no. And why the hell does tailoring need to be such torture? I was satisfied with the first dress! You know how many types of fabric and combinations I've been shown?"

"Claudia," the voice was like a whip. Lady Phantomhive approached them. "Do keep yourself from such comments in front of your groom."

Claudia bloated all too comically, but regained her composure and nodded.

"I'm accompained by Tanaka and Undertaker, mother. It is not-"

"It is not proper for a bride to talk with her fiancé without her mother present. You already dismissed far too much etiquette and aesthetics than you should have ever, young woman." And she turned her back, stepping only behind Tanaka, who had prompetly taken his butler task and would open the door to the bride, mother and an undertaker.

What a trio.

Inside, there was a blond young man looking slightly anxious and having a bad time at hiding it. The butler announced the two Phantomhive ladies and 'Mr Undertaker'. He could barely keep himself from chuckling, more imagining than seeing the young man's expression at having his future mother-in-law come in with a mortician. It certainly looked like a quite literal omen.

"Lady Phantomhive," the young man Cedric greeted, bowing before taking the widow's hand. His voice was slightly shaking. "Lady Claudia."

"Hello, Cedric."

"Mr Undertaker," he continued.

"Hi~ya."

Poor child.

Claudia's mother sat like a silent inquisitor, drinking the tea the butler poured at her first, proceding to every other person in the room. The young Cedric made all the formal excuses for his unannounced visit, and Claudia didn't seem too eager for a conversation until Cedric commented how much he longed to unwind from his mother's crazy tailoring. Claudia's eyebrow raised slightly. A pleasing sign.

"Oh, Hell is shared, huh?"

"I beg pardon?"

Undertaker chuckled, attracting Cedric's gaze. The man quickly sipped at his tea, trying to save his hideously dry throat.

Having unwillingly started on a good foot and sharing Claudia's Hell, she picked on the subject and covertly (or not so much) exchanged all her experiences with crazy etiquette. Soon after, the young man was smiling, listening to Claudia's words with interest that wasn't faked or bloated, following her cue on honest but carefully worded comments. He also asked her about the opinion on the book she was reading, which Claudia prompely showed him one of the illustrations, the poems kept in secured inside the binding.

"Have you ever heard about the legends of butterflies being human souls transformed?"

Never had Undertaker imagined himself making attendance to a young engaged couple, accompained by no other than the stern mother of the bride and making him act like... what? He certainly wasn't anywhere near the father role. He really could play no other role than his own. Which meant he was the undertaker, a grim reaper witnessing the building the present moment of cinematic records' memories, the silent reminder of the feeble nature of everything happening and what would be built from there.

And wasn't that what gave meaning to life, like Claudia once said?

What gave meaning to his new life wasn't the goal forced upon him, but the one he chose for himself. And it was witnessing this young woman live her life to the fullest.

How interesting.

A stern throat clearing brought him back to the room and he realized Claudia's mother was the one to have called his attention.

"One thing he is, is eccentric," she said, out of context for Undertaker. Not that the phrase needed much more context to make sense.

"Can't deny that, but I do admit I got distracted~"

"Lord Cedric just asked you a question."

"Ooh?"

"He's an old friend of mine," Claudia answered in his stead. "We've met when I was just a child. You can ask mother if you want and cannot take the word of a grown up woman and your future wife. Either way, he will come by the house as often as it's suitable to both of us."

That was a quick way of claryfing (or dismissing) the subject.

"I do take your word for it, Lady Claudia."

"He hasn't changed much, have you, Mr Undertaker?"

"Can't say that I have, Lady Phantomhive~"

"I never have got the chance to thank you for all the help you've given my daughter throughout these years. And the patience you've undoubtedly shown towards her thrist for knowledge."

Lady Phantomhive was complimenting him? What a surprising day this was.

"I should be the one to thank your daughter. Me and my funeral guests love to provide whichever assistance we can~"

"Uh," Cedric's voice hummed, attracting the gazes to his direction. "I beg pardon, but you own a funeral parlour?"

Claudia sipped at her tea, slowly eyeing Cedric and Undertaker. He could almost hear her mental comment _'I did say he was a doof'_.

"Uh, what I mean is, may I ask how you started such a line of work? You are surely still rather young yourself?"

Undertaker giggled disconcertingly, but he praised the man for holding his ground.

"I suppose that is a matter of perspective, nooo~?"

"If you're asking about his age, I do think it's not appropriate," Claudia cut. "One shouldn't ask a lady her age. Surely the same applies to gentlemen."

"Of course. I apologize, I-I didn't mean to make myself look like a fool."

Undertaker nodded his head in what he thought would be a parody of politeness, but in earnest, he didn't dislike the man from this first impression. He had some intelligence underneath the youngful naivety. And he could laugh with Claudia, rather than smother her under class and etiquette. That was something Undertaker could understand and appreciate. And Claudia did seem happy.

.

But he _was_ a doof.

"Heavens, I swear I just watched my whole life flash in front of my eyes!" Cedric gasped, hand clasped tightly over his chest where his heart had just tried to jump out of. Undertaker was still laughing, body shaking as he failed to control the cackling brought by the poor man's startle.

"I wouldn't doubt you did, Lord Cedric!" he managed to catch his breath enough to squeak the words out. "Something that _will_ happen when you do die, but how unfortunate that would be right before you're about to be wed, wouldn't it? What can I do for you~?"

"You could try not to make me a guest of yours," the man whispered, massaging his chest and trying to catch his own breath. "Goodness, do you greet every person this way?"

"I like to laugh. Would you like a cookie?"

Cedric didn't seem eager to accept anything from a man owning a funeral shop and that had just jumped out of a coffin together with a skeleton. Seeing the bone shape of said cookies didn't help to persuade him. Undertaker took a big bite of one of them, waiting patiently.

"I... uh." Temptatively, he extended his hand and took one with caution. "I apologize for bothering you in your work."

"My current guest is not in a haste, Lord Cedric."

"Right. I imagine not. I'm here... I came here to ask you if you would help me, and what would you take as payment for that help."

"Ooooh?" He could almost feel his ears perking up like a little cat catching a curious rustle. "Help...?"

"I... I understand you know Lady Clau... Claudia, for quite some time. Even Lady Phantomhive seemed approving of your presence."

"Something surpring to everyone, including myself."

"I am very fond of Claudia," he said, and his voice didn't quiver then. "I know the legacy and task she carries on her shoulders. I am honored to be part of the Phantomhive family. We have discussed the issue, and against my family's secret desire, Claudia will not take my name upon our marriage. It never even occured to me such a family, loyal servants of the Queen of England, would renounce such a title out of nickel and dime etiquette. I want to help her in her work for the Queen in the best of my abilities, and if it includes me stepping aside out of being and hindrance, I will."

He didn't want to interrupt the boy in such an inspired moment, but Undertaker did hope he would get to his point. Even if he was funny in his ramblings.

"So, I'm here because... Because I was hoping you could tell me how I could win Claudia's heart."

Oh dear.

It was no use. Undertaker couldn't help but laugh out loud, beads of tears peeking from his eyes and forcing him to wipe them away from behind the curtain of hair. He caught Cedric holding his ground so firmly, trying to stay unshaken like an English nobleman in front of this peculiar mortician, and Undertaker once again took a positive note on the young man's struggling and conquering his self confidence issues.

"Ah, Lord Cedric, I would say I'm honored you think so high of me~ please don't take offence by me laughing. On the contrary... I'm pretty certain you've just earned the information you ask for thanks to these laughs."

"The laughs?" he repeated, but ended up deciding against persuing the issue any further. "Does that mean you'll help me?"

"If I sensed any ill will from you, your life would have effectively flashed before your eyes by now," Undertaker said. Although still smiling, he knew the man felt the slight shift in his smile. "I don't sense any such thing. You do make Claudia laugh, and you've made me laugh. You still do need to learn some things. I don't think you need to win Claudia's heart, otherwise you wouldn't have been betrothed to her."

"Forgive me, but that is a dull, cheap answer," Cedric retorted. Undertaker blinked. A phrase that brought back memories. "Surely there is something more, something concrete I can do to make her happy?"

The answer was simple, wasn't it? It had always been.

"If something makes you smile, it makes you happy. You make Claudia laugh. That's even better. I'd say you're already making a good job, Lord Cedric."

Undertaker bit his cookie, smiling at the young man.

"Do you like literature?"

"Literature? Yes."

"Have you ever read _Hamlet_?"

"Of course."

"Discuss your view and opinion with her. And she's taken a fondness on butterflies, as you may have noticed during your wonderful chattering under the Phantomhive roof."

.

"Why did you give him such an information?"

"He made me laugh too much."

"What kind of payment is that?" Claudia inquired, biting the cookie she was offered. It was the last visit to the parlor before her wedding - but like she herself said, the case wouldn't wait for her engagement and people were still dying. She solved the murder cases that very morning, and Undertaker took the perpetrator guest body happily.

"The best one, I would say."

"You never requested any payment from me."

"My dear, you were the very reason why I could ever accept this as payment."

"Laughs?"

"Reasons to smile. It was the very answer he wast looking for, after all. It would be cruel not to help him."

"Best not turn this method of payment a habit. You laugh too much."

"You said it yourself. How sad it would be, should laughter disappear."

.

Undertaker had no recollection of attending a wedding. He had, certainly. He had his own family, once. A lifetime ago.

He had reaped souls at weddings. Not a very welcomed guest at those ceremonies.

To actually receive a request to join one was unique.

Even amongst the Phantomhive guests, he knew he attracted surprised looks (it wasn't like he was following that so important ettiquete in this age), but also found acknowledging nods sent in his direction, including him in this new aspect of human life he was so kindly invited into.

He watched from afar how the newly weds politely greeted every guest and exchaged small conversation with them. Hell or not, it was undeniable the tailor had created a wonderful wedding dress for Claudia, and the young Cedric looked slightly less childlike and more confident in his impeccable suit.

Smiling, Undertaker peaked at the food, earning even sterner looks from the ladies than the ones caused by his mortuary clothing. Eventually, he caught a small group of children attentively, cautiously, following his every move. He grinned, waving at them at a certain point, and the poor toddlers nearly bashed their heads against each other in an attempt to hide. Dressed in the perfect Victorian fashion, small little adults of the age of seven or less, squealing in adrenalized panic.

Undertaker was chuckling happily to himself when he turned and saw the large, elaborated white form of Claudia right beside him.

"You look marvelously haunting when you show up so silently behind someone."

"The great coffin trickster is startled by a bride wearing five kilometers of gown?" Claudia jested. She looked slightly tired. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Very much so~"

"Good. I just want this to be over. No amount of drink can nurish my throat. I don't think I've talked this much in my entire lifetime."

"You are doing a wonderful job, Countess Phantomhive. Your mother must be very pleased."

"She better be. And you." Undertaker turned at her, her eyes narrowed towards his face. "I wish you would change your hair. I would very much like to see you in your regal aura once again. Besides, your eyesight won't improve if you keep blocking your vision like that."

Like that was the sole reason why he kept his eyes hidden.

"My dear, I don't need my eyes as much as you would think," he recalled, chuckling.

"Even so, they are a much pleasant sight than your face always covered like that. You would put many to shame here should you get all that out of the way."

"My, is that a compliment?"

"You would do best to appreciate them rather than make me regret these lapses of judgement."

"No no, I don't mean it like sooo~ Ah, but I do believe it would be for the best I keep my eyes like so. I already scare enough people as it is~"

"Have you been enjoying yourself, then?"

"Didn't have to work on it," he explained, casually stepping aside to clear Claudia's field of vision. He could feel the group of children quivering and cowering, even without bothering to so much peek at them. Poor children were hilarious.

He did see Claudia grin mischievously, an already too familiar expression.

"Hmmm~?"

"Oh, they may have heard something about a guest of mine, something about naughty children having mysteriously vanished without so much as a trace, and how that said guest just happened to benefit from a lot of knowledge on burrying things."

She could eerily look so innocent while smiling so devilishly.

"Oh Claudia. You didn't."

"Of course I did."

"You'll be a wonderful mother."

"I know."

.

 _1851_

And no one would doubt it, when Vincent Phantomhive was born on June 13th.

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to be continued

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 **.**

 **Author's Note:** Thanks to every reader, specially **Shi-no-tamashii** and **Reira Verzeihen Danke** , and as always **MassiveMilkshakeNerd.**

I had planned for this to be the last lighter-ish chapter and dive headfirst in darkness pit next time, but I do think we'll only be tiptoeing for the time being.

But rest assured, readers. This will turn dark :) Hope to see you there and that you'll like what you'll read.

I listened to _'Rapture Rising'_ and _'Can't be Erased'_ nightcore versions, and covers of ' _A Beautiful Song'_ from NieR Automata ost for the wedding part. ( What can I say, I don't go to many weddings. If I did, they'd listen to good music there :) )

 **Thanks for reading** , as usual please point out mistakes and reviews are appreciated


	7. To Good Fortune

Author's Note: Forgot to mention, there's a Jessica Rabbit reference in the last chapter.

This is another unintentionally long chapter! I hope it'll be of your liking though. It was intended to actually be longer, but I figured I could trim this one and save the extra written stuff for the next chapter, making the future update hopefully sooner and keeping the story fresher in your minds.

As I said, the previous chapter was very light-hearted, and this more or less follows on that. However, like I've said, we are headed to a different direction of light, so we will slowly (painfully slowly...) but surely tiptoe to the darkness in this one.

The 'coin' in the birthday cake thing is something I quickly read on Victorian Era birthday parties. It's supposed to give luck to the person that finds it.

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* * *

 _._

 _1857_

.

"Here you go, little lady."

"But it's my birthday."

Undertaker chuckled at the boy's hurt and betrayed expression, eyes locked and following the present that flew to the hands of another. Little Francis squealed in delight and hugged the wrapped present tightly. She thanked him in her adorable baby proper English and proceeded to tear the paper layer apart at once.

"A doll!" she squealed loudly and hopped in place, to Undertaker's satisfaction. He immediately wondered if Claudia had been like so as a three year old, and how much he could pick that on her current trademark decorum. "Tank you, Undataka!"

"But it's _my_ birthday," Vincent insisted, voice cracking however slightly as he followed his sister. His eyebrow raised hilariously and earning Undertaker a laugh even before he continued. "Is that a dead doll?"

"Of course not! She'll have a wonderful life in your sister's care," Undertaker replied.

Vincent tried to catch a glimpse of the unique sight of the doll, but his sister was hiding it from sight. And his attention immediately turned elsewhere when Undertaker moved his hand from behind his back with a grin.

"And here you go, young man."

Vincent's eyes shined quite literally when Undertaker revealed the dark wrapped gift. Simultaneously trying, and rather succeeding, in maintaining his excitement and composure under check despite being as small as Undertaker's hip. Claudia's child, after all. Nobility ran in their veins.

"Thank you very much. It's the first time you have called me a man," he noted, chest bloated with pride.

"I still do think that six is far too early to address someone that way, and yet..." Undertaker grinned widely and placed a finger over his lips. "Do not let your mother hear me or she'll have me by the throat everytime I call you 'little' again."

"Can I open it?" Vincent looked at Francis with a frown, now waltzing about with her ragdoll. He was a 'man'. He had to maintain composure.

"Has your mother said anything against it?"

"Well... she said I couldn't open it before the guests arrived, but every guest will bring a gift, so I _am_ opening it when the guest arrived."

Claudia's child, after all. Smart and cunning.

As if she sensed the name, or most likely, followed Tanaka's announcement of his arrival, Claudia appeared in the hall with Cedric. They were first greeted by Francis, which gave time for Vincent to slightly panic as he fought against unwrapping the rest of the paper or pretending the present had been delivered like so.

"Mama, Papa! Undataka gave me a doll!" the child said happily, lifting the macabre ragdoll. It was hard to chose between watching Vincent's turmoil or watch the parents' reaction, but Undertaker decided he wished to be closer and see Cedric's expression in particular.

"She's lovely," Claudia said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Have you thanked Undertaker?"

"Yes!" she replied, hugging the doll.

"She looks... handmade," Cedric's comment was heardable even on Undertaker's side and the mortician fought to not chuckle as loudly as he actually wanted to.

"I'm sure she was," was all Claudia replied before she approached Vincent and Undertaker. By then, the boy had decided to pretend the gift had been delivered with half the paper layer hanging in shreds. Seeing as it had been Undertaker to offer it, he probably could have got away with it, had Vincent not forgot he had the present behind his back before promptly shoving it to his lap.

"Mother! I have a present too! Uh, I mean... it is my birthday, so of course I have a present."

"Yes, Vincent, I know," Claudia was still smiling rather smuggishly and her expression only enhanced as she turned to greet him. "Hello, Undertaker. Thank you for being here."

"Of course~" Undertaker couldn't resist to address Cedric in particular as he continued. "Little Francis is happy with her present, isn't she?"

"She is. Thank you, Mr Undertaker." The years had made him quite more confident in himself, but Cedric had that subconscious fright of Undertaker ( _'Respect...'_ Claudia once told him had been her husband's reply to Claudia's comment on the subject) that never ceased to entertain him. The man turned to Vincent, appropriately not too surprised by the shredded paper wrap. "Have you opened yours, Vincent?"

"Uh, no, I haven't..." With the implied permission, Vincent unwrapped the rest of the paper and showed his gift. "' _The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket'_! I don't know this author. Thank you, Undertaker!"

"He seems to have some very pleasant and intringuing poetry, but I could only acquire this printed book. If you like his work, I will try to find some poems for you."

"Is he British?"

"British American, I read."

"I am sure he will have interesting subjects of writing," Cedric couldn't help but comment, not intended to be a critique but probably said as one inevitably. His brain _was_ still hindered from his little girl's new doll.

"I'm sure he will," Claudia agreed. "You know I like poetry, so I will try to find his works."

The guests arrived, a smaller scale than Claudia's wedding had been but still quite crowded. Like then, Undertaker remained slightly afar from everyone, a bystander quietly enjoying everyone's interactions. The shocked expressions to Francis's doll got funnier each time, even if he was saddened he couldn't clearly see all of them. Some of the children yelped rather loudly only to get Francis's smiles and stream of baby-voiced compliments. The Phantomhive family were quite entertained the whole afternoon, and Claudia seemed to have found interesting conversations to be part of, which was always worth note. He did suspect some of her sharper replies were still just as effective, judging by some reactions.

Later in the afternoon, Vincent left the two boys he had talked with for some long minutes and approached one of the food tables, nibbling at a candy while looking for one present amongst his pile. He picked two of the books he had been offered and sat in a nearby chair. Undertaker caught up with him there, and despite having popped up behind him suddenly, Vincent didn't so much as blink in surprise.

"I heard your chain," he explained, victorious smile on his lips.

"I see~ Are you enjoying your party?" Vincent nodded. "Excited for your birthday cake?"

"It wouldn't be that original if the birthday boy got the coin," the boy said with a sheepish smile.

"I wouldn't say that."

"Will you try it? I haven't seen you eat many times."

"I eat a lot!"

"Cookies, my Mother tells me. My birthday cake will be delicious!"

"Of course I will try it."

Satisfied, Vincent dropped his eyes to the books.

"Do you want to see the other books I got? They all seem very interesting. I will start with yours, but from there I don't know which one I should move to."

"I can try to," Undertaker agreed, kneeling next to Vincent.

The boy showed him the different covers, which Undertaker mostly saw as dark blurrs of colour, and randomly picked up an order for Vincent. As he insisted on Undertaker to tell him the reason for his choices (" _The subject seems more interesting to you? Is this author better? Or is this..."_ ), Undertaker picked the books one by one and lifted them close to his face so he could effectively tell what they were about. The order of preference turned out to be roughly the same as he first said it, but as he caught Vincent's temptatively raising his gaze away from the books, he stopped speaking.

"Undertaker."

"Yees~ little Vincent?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"May I ask why you hide your eyes?"

"Hee hee... oh, does that bother you?"

Vincent shrugged, waving his head afterwards.

"Not really. I'm just curious. It could be the scars... do they bother you?"

"Not at all."

"Then it is your eyes, right?"

"Perhaaaaps~"

"Your eyesight won't get better if you keep them covered all the time."

Undertaker giggled at the choice of words, so very familiar.

"I don't really mind that, you see~"

"Could you show me?"

"Oh? I have to start to get payment for information, my little lord."

Vincent blinked, surprised. He wasn't expecting that.

"Payment? I don't have any money. And it's my birthday. Can't I ask it as a present?"

He grinned widely.

"Aaaah very well. You win, little lord. But I will charge you next time." Even though he had already paid either way. Undertaker kept giggling at the boy's sharp reply as he moved his fingers towards his face, turning his back to the hall and the guests. Vincent held his breath for a moment before Undertaker brushed the hair aside.

Satisfied, Vincent mirrored his mother's accomplished look.

And like his mother, he knew, but didn't say it out loud.

.

It might be because he had retained a keen spiritual sense, or maybe it was simply and clearly blatant, but Undertaker grinned to the birthday cake piece he had got. Little Francis happened to be nearby, and he encouraged her to hug her brother and congratulate him on his birthday once more. The child did it enthuastically, which meant she made Vincent fall to his knees in a single pull and squealed so loudly at his ear he probably remained slightly deaf for a couple of minutes.

His black-clad figure wasn't exactly the best one to be discreet, but his eccentricity saved him people from trying to guess the purpose of him moving this or that way. While Vincent struggled to be freed of Francis's loveable chokehold, Undertaker passed by behind them and next to the table, grinning all the while to the adorably funny scenario.

Vincent was slightly fazed by how his attempt at being a 'man' on his sixth birthday had been so effortlessly shaken by his baby sister, but still resumed his pose and picked his cake plate left behind him at the table. He parted a piece and took it to his mouth, the sweetness of the perfectly baked cake ruined by the metal clank his teeth found instead.

"How wonderful, Vincent!" Claudia commended him, as did Cedric.

"Congratulations!" some voices echoed.

Vincent smiled, searching the sea of faces until he found Undertaker's and showed him the good luck coin. Undertaker smiled back and ate his cake piece. Delicious indeed.

.

"Whom are those lockets you carry of?"

Undertaker peeked from behind his bangs and smiled as he picked the chain and lifted as much as it could. Vincent tilted his head, curiosity gleaming at his eyes.

"Are they your family?"

"My family has died a long time ago."

"I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right. It has been a very long time indeed. I never made lockets for them." The thought had crossed his mind, shortly after having reawaken as a Grim Reaper. It was useless by then.

"May I ask who they are?"

"They were some of my guests," he started, holding the very first locket he had decided to create. Mally, a child who deserved many more flowers than the one she ever got on her grave, regardless of how often he still placed fresh ones for her. "Some people just feel like they could change the world and they were not allowed to. I met a young boy once, in 1843. Even though I had made two lockets before him... Your mother and I had a conversation about him. We never found his name, but I probably should have. I never made a locket for that child, and I deeply regret that. He earned his place as any of these people. Mally, Oliver, Emile, Harry, Alex... all very special people. Harry..." he turned the locket towards Vincent, who had quietly mouthed the names as Undertaker pulled the chain gently, "...passed away same year you were born."

"They are important to you."

"As important as any person, my little lord." People gone too soon. Out of the hundreds of humans that visited his funeral parlour, those five had felt like they should have been allowed to live; granted that permission by a Shinigami that would watch their lives and finally, at last, allow them to continue. But no Grim Reaper did so, and the one that wished for it no longer had any power to do it.

"Couldn't you have saved them?"

"I'm afraid not. Some things are outside my power now."

"Oh. I see." Vincent read his words and Undertaker could almost see the gears in his mind spinning, making his conclusions on Undertaker's nature and limitations he had for some reason. When he spoke, however, it wasn't a comment Undertaker was expecting. "Will you make one for me?"

For an instant, his heart forgot its beat. Vincent turned his eyes up, as if he had felt Undertaker's hesitation.

"Is something wrong?" the child asked, straighting up and looking unusually concerned. "I didn't mean to..."

"All I wish for you is that your life is a fulfilling one, Vincent. These lockets are for those whose lives were too short."

"I see. I do not wish to sound grim, but we do live in grim times. Will you make one for me should I live too shortly? I would wish you remember me like you remember all those guests of yours."

The thought hindered his breathing further and Undertaker swallowed with difficulty. He was grateful his eyes were covered. He, whom had always appreciated chats surrounding life and death and had learned to value both so immensely, suddenly could not process the request Claudia's child made him.

"I would more easily prevent you from dying altogether, little lord."

.

 _1858_

.

"Living dead bodies?" Claudia repeated the words, for once having a skeptical tone to her voice in the start of one of their lovely conversations. In contrast, Vincent was eagerly interested, only his eyes betraying his yet again trained composure. Francis had remained still in a chair for short of three seconds before starting to run around. She was carrying her ragdoll present, which, as Claudia called it, was 'safe for her to toss around'. The Phantomhive servants might have agreed on that, but the sight of the macabre doll still didn't meet everyone's susceptibilities.

"You sound untinterested."

"Incredulous would be the best word."

"This has always fascinated me. I would assume you shared the interest with me, all those possibilities, the what ifs, the young lives cut too short."

"The boy you spoke of?" Vincent jumped, smiling with pride at Undertaker nodding his head. Claudia eyed the both of them, and Undertaker knew her far too well to not hear her inner remark.

"You're talking about cases almost 15 years ago," she said instead, faint hint smile unable to be held back.

"Time flies~"

"' _You'll always be a child'_ , while you're at it? I am not. But do not let me disturb you, Undertaker. Do carry on."

Chuckling, Undertaker did so. "It _is_ interesting. What if these people hadn't died then? What would happen if they continued? You helped me realize something quite hypocrit about the whole subject of life, death and change that one time."

"How so?" Vincent asked instead of his mother.

"How, so often, people who have reasons to be alive have their lives cut too short, and others who wish it to be over are forced to continue. The same set of rules should apply to everyone and it does not."

"In a way, it does. A sort of balance between both."

"I wouldn't call it a balance, Claudia."

"So, your prospect of the living dead," she resumed.

"Yes. All that wasted potential, what if they could retake that by continuing to live in some form? The human body is extremely complex, and yet there just but a few changes between being alive and dead."

"I wouldn't call it _'a few'_."

"So if you could work on those changes, you could perhaps bring them back? " Vincent asked. "What if you had something of them? Like hair?"

Vincent enthuastically glanced at the lockets by Undertaker's hip. Claudia followed the movement.

"I highly doubt anything short of the person's body would work," she replied, sipping her cup of tea. "But how would something like that ever work? The body is dead. The brain has suffered irrepearable damage, it's not something that can just be lightened up again in some electric telegraph fashion. Not to mention the decay of organs. One functioning part wouldn't be enough to make a whole body operating again. And that is excluding the type of physical damage that caused the death to begin with."

"You are thinking in such oddly mundane terms, Claudia."

She blinked at his comment, piercing through the layer of hair over his eyes. Which, now that he thought about it, he could have brushed aside like he did with her for years now. It's not like it would frighten Vincent. Oh, but Claudia didn't know that yet, did she?

Of course she did.

"Some form of demon convenant would be appliable, then?"

Undertaker shuddered rather visibly, to Vincent's clear surprise. The boy blinked, so much like Claudia in that demonstration of surprise in their otherwise unfazed expressions, and turned his head from his mother to the mortician, trying to catch the backstory of that reaction. Claudia did seem devilishly pleased with herself, as she always did take that subject in a much lighter tone.

"No, it would not. Those things are not meant to be involved at all."

Claudia seemed to want to make a further remark on that, but remained silent. Vincent remained quiet as well, brow furrowed in concentration as he analyzed their words.

"Well, I was going for the opposite of mundane," she continued. Little Francis approached them then, dancing with her doll and smiling when Claudia corrected her posture. "My points were perfectly valid. A human body cannot be physically brought back to life in any plausible manner. The _'few'_ changes you mentioned earlier are not few at all when you look at it realistically. You are not one for science, are you?"

"Not in that way, no. I did know a particularly science-enthusiast back in the day."

"Maybe a sort of breath of life, somehow..."

"Far too fantasy-like, wouldn't you say, Vincent?"

"Science isn't a feasible possiblity, as you said, Mother. Then, maybe another way, some higher form of power..."

Claudia scoffed. "Like God?"

The boy raised his eyes to Undertaker. "Death is a form of God, isn't it?"

Without moving her head, Claudia's eyes followed Vincent and Undertaker, before she blinked and the soft smile increased.

"It is, because God Himself doesn't otherwise care or bother with the life and loss of us common mortals."

The comment drove Vincent's attention off Undertaker back to Claudia, the number of surprises now starting to become quite visible on his face. Francis called him on that in her baby speech.

"What? Your grandmother may be a devout believer, but I am not. No one in our Phantomhive family should be, when we take on the responsability of being the Queen's Watchdog."

Undertaker was ready to bring back the conversation to a much better topic than The Queen, but Vincent did it for him.

"Death isn't evil in a way, correct? It's just there. But when people die sooner than they should... well, why do they? Is there a higher form of power behind it? And if there is..." the child's brow was deeply frowned by then, trying to fully assess all those variables a seven year old was trying to solve. Meanwhile, his sister was waving and calling at him. "So maybe there could be a special way for Death to be... reversed somehow?"

"Not so much reversed as continued, little lord," Undertaker replied, and again Vincent's head turned to him. "It's a question that has plagued my mind for many years. All those 'what ifs'. What if they hadn't died, and continued living?"

"Then..."

"Reverse is not the right term, but continuing. The body continuing to live, somehow."

"But as Mother said, the organs would be dead. The brain would be too damaged to function. If the body somehow moved, wouldn't that turn someone into a doll-like person?"

"They may be pretty indeed~"

"I mean lifeless," Vincent specified. "Alive but not. They wouldn't be themselves, would they? Their hearts and minds could retur- continue? They would lack soul, wouldn't they? Or is there a way to create a soul?"

"There isn't, little lord."

"I do agree with Vincent. The thought sounds intringuing, but like I said, every possible scenario is just not effective in a long term view."

"Regardless, it is still interesting~" Undertaker said, shrugging happily. He tried to catch the little girl's attention, but her frustrated cries reached their peek and the child quite rightfully so demanded her brother's attention the best way she could. Which was to send her ragdoll flying and hitting Vincent square in the face.

"Franny!" the boy complained, even though his expression lightened at the sound of Francis accomplished giggle. "That is not how you ask someone to go with you."

"Come, come!" she echoed. "Give me My Lady!"

"Excuse me, Mother, Undertaker," Vincent said before following the blonde child, pulled by My Lady doll and in turn being pulled by Francis.

Claudia smiled softly at the children, resting her back on the armchair now that Vincent was entertained. Undertaker chuckled at the sight.

"He is learning quite a lot from you."

"As he should. Vincent is a bright child. And you, your efforts on the living dead are fruitful," she added, eyes pointing to the pair dancing in a circle, Francis singing _London Bridge is Falling Down_ and commanding both her brother and doll to join. "That dead doll has a more interesting and full life in my daughter's hands than any of us probably will have."

"I'm glad she likes her so much."

"That _is_ a rather bizarre doll, though."

.

to be continued

.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Under a very quick and not thorough search, ' _The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket'_ seems to be the only published book there was back in 1857 by Edgar Allan Poe :) Also little cameo-comment on Othello.

Written to some jolly dark songs by Voltaire, and I hope to one day sketch Francis's doll :)

Claudia's interactions got a bit left over Undertaker and Vincent bonding, and I'm still not that satisfied with it. I will likely change the name Claudia to Cloudia when I finish the fic. Until then, Claudia will remain.

Thanks for reading, as usual please point out mistakes and reviews are appreciated

I don't think I've yet mentioned the kudos from **SisselTorikki,** **WordForEveryStar** , **Hawkeye_the_hot_spy** , **BookLoverSince1996** I got. Also thanks to **James Birdsong,** **SisselTorikki** and **WasteOfMyTime** and every one else who reads :)


	8. Choking from Intoxication

.

 _1861_

.

Claudia's work increased like a tidalwave through the year. To the more regular type of investigation, the Queen had seen fit to throw short of a dozen extra cases, spiced with a tiny bit of military and political sensibility. Overseas plotting, American-Britain straining relationships, spies and conspiricies to be properly and covertly investigated. Not many bodies surfaced from most of those cases, and the ones that did seldomly required much of Undertaker's expertise, but he did advice and keep close following on Claudia's efforts and developments.

"I sense England is verging war state again, hmmm~?"

"Let's hope not. Diplomatic exchanges have continuously taken place, but these underground plottery are most troublesome."

"As if you didn't have your hands full..." Undertaker sighed, tapping at the lungs of the guest he was attending, removing them from the open chest and carrying them around to another table.

"Always crime to deal with," Claudia followed on his sigh, which made Undertaker breathe out a smile. "Of course, not like these moungrals would make a pause in their daily dosage of killing."

"As you see, he did not drown. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Not an unseen death circumstance..."

"...had he not been found in the river. So there is a company somewhere overworking employers under life-threatening conditions - common. Yet they took the time to dump his body in the river to cover up his real cause of death."

"It could be just typical body disposal."

"He had a suicide note on him. How many low class workers can write? Regular body disposal wouldn't go to the trouble of scribbling down a few words. This man's body was intended to be taken as a suicide by drowning. Which means, somewhere, a company that has a killing count is trying to cover these murders. Either a company with a notable visibility and therefore has to hide such scandals, or one that has some form of section which operates without everyone else knowing, hence needing to keep such deaths hidden. Great. Because businessmen moungrals are just what I needed in my schedule."

"The water did some damage on the body for me to try and help you on his origins and background, but I can try to search a bit more thoroughly in the underworld. Looooots of such companies to look into."

"Please do," Claudia asked, massaging her brow gently. "I will be heading to the docks. John Brown has given me a couple of names of American travelers with suspicious ties to some of our gunpowder supliers."

Undertaker turned to her, suddenly at loss with the name.

"John Brown?" He managed to pinpoint where he had heard Claudia say it before. "The butler?"

"Her Majesty has retreated to her mother, the Duchess of Kent and Strathearn's, sickbed. Her Majesty has enough to trouble her mind as it is."

"I would imagine her husband to take that place."

"The Prince Consort has been rather ill as of late. His pain has become chronical, according to Her Majesty, and he is already doing much more than would be expected from his condition. The delegation to John Brown is but natural in my view. What _is_ important is that the Queen has enough concerns as it is, and is but my duty to do my best to not disturb her further with all these cases."

"Of course." It left a sour taste in his mouth, but regardless, he said it.

.

The Princess Victoria, Duchess of Kent and Strathearn, and Mother to the great Queen of England, passed away some days later.

.

The grim year of 1861 ended with the passing of the Prince Consort, Albert.

Claudia reported the state of the Queen during the royal funeral, the event all members of the Phantomhive family were requested to attend. Undertaker listened to her words, absolutely unfazed and uninterested.

"Undertaker!"

He nearly jumped from his seat at the coffin, looking at Claudia to try and see what had happened. She didn't seem startled, but extremely annoyed.

"What is your problem?"

"I'm sorry?" Undertaked blinked. Well, _unfazed_ and _uninterested_ did mean he had not been following any particular thread of conversation, and Claudia's voice had blurred into a constant pleasant, but completely unclear, ramble. Had she changed subject? Had she asked him something important? Was it because he had spaced out during her speech?

"You have always acted this way. From the very first moment I can remember. I cannot understand why."

"Forgive me, I admit I got lost. What are we-"

"Precisely. Whenever I mention the Queen, or whenever I talk about her - not the cases I am tasked with, which naturally you have always assisted me with - you act that in that distasteful, disdainful way."

Oh, so that was it.

Undertaker almost considered answering. But he never lied to Claudia.

"Why would you harbour such ill feelings towards someone like the Queen?"

"I have nothing against the woman." An answer after all. And... he had started lying.

" _Her Majesty_ ," she corrected sharply as a whip. "And you are lying."

"I am not."

"She has never acted in any way that would be harmful or against any of your values."

 _Debatable_ , he thought.

"Her Majesty is grief-stricken. She lost her mother _and_ her husband. Her youngest child is four years old. If not for anything else, Her Majesty is someone who has suffered two family tragidies in the space of but a few months."

"Not unheard of, in this age."

His trimmed answers were clearly not helping to ease Claudia's humour.

"If not for anything else, you could show or express some form of human compassion on that alone. If not for anything else, she has to suffer these losses while at the same time carrying a weight of-"

"There is everything else."

"Excuse me?"

"There _is_ everything else," Undertaker repeated, shrugging. The cookie jar pot he had snacked constantly on during Claudia's speech lost another one of its bones, tiny bits of cookie littering over his lap. "Her Majesty The Queen of England and the Great United Kingdom lost family members and has nine offsprings to throw at wetnurses and maids to look after their every need, in her castle filled in comfort and food. I do not mean to sound rude..."

"Then do not continue."

"I've burried a family of eight, whose father and husband begged me to lay them to rest and offered every form of payment except money, which he had too lost all of it. Six children, wife and brother. I would have burried him too gladly, but I do fear he took his life after ensuring a resting place for his family. A disturbing occurance I would-"

"So she is the Queen. Is that honestly what bothers you so much? You have something against leaders?"

"I dislike rulers. It's different from being a leader. Maybe that is the source of your so called 'ill feelings' I harbour for your Queen."

"Clearly, it must be. Whatever past experiences you have with royalty-"

"Oh, I do have a few."

"Do not interrupt me. Whatever experiences those might be, it clearly makes you childishly and demonically narrowminded, just blindly distributing injury and critic."

The half-bone cookie hanged in his mouth. Undertaker couldn't help but smile, although not entirely sure why, or how sincere it was.

"You really did try to throw an insult in there, didn't you?"

"Despite my personal opinion on it, I've always let your behaviour and remarks pass by with only a sour taste in my mouth. Seeing how poorly you can corroborate your attitude, however, does it. I really cannot feel comfortable exchanging a conversation over anything besides work. So, seeing as I don't require any autopsy for the cases I'm working on, have a good day, Mr Undertaker."

"You're being a child, Claudia," he said after Claudia had turned and left the parlour.

.

 _1862_

.

Apparently, the whole of Victorian England shared her childishness. (Admittingly, it _was Victorian_ England.) The haze of that mass-shared grief over the good old Prince stretched from the late days of the year into the following months, all the black mourning clothes on every person in the street, all the children drapped in black. (Of every middle class and up, of course. The death of some monarch did not suddenly grant the starving and the forlorned walking corpses of England the sudden patriotism or money income to dress according to the latest fashion.) Tailors and funeral warehouses were making quite the business.

He waltzed around the streets in the first days, and the scenario drove him ill and back to his safe place, his guests and his experimentations.

He did start to appreciate the example of human behaviour he was learning in it. How inflamed common people's emotions could be under the symbol of their King in all purposes, and how much of it was spread like a disease from one to another, regardless of their true emotions; a hysteria clearly not washed down through the past centuries.

From time to time, he did think on Claudia's words, specially when the outcome of the childishness of one of them (or both of them, most likely) made him miss her presence, or invitations to the manor or the summer house.

.

Claudia came on a Friday, and to his joy, brought both her children.

"Hello, Undertaker," Vincent greeted him, dressed to perfection and hair styled to enhance his beauty mark. "We've missed your company."

"Yes, indeed," Francis added, a sheep smile on her tiny face. She wasn't as energetic and adorably spontaneous as her three old self, and put Vincent's perfect attire to shame with her dress, but Claudia had told Undertaker (before they had their quarry about Her Annoying Majesty) she still played and prefered her ragdoll over all others.

"It's wonderful to see you both, my little lords~! Can I invite you to try one of my new cookies?"

Both children nodded, Francis not managing to hold a giggle at the typical bone-cookies having been replaced with skull-shaped ones.

"You could try to fill the sockets with blueberry jelly next time," Vincent suggested, nibbing at his cookie. "It will enhance both impact and flavour."

"Wonderful suggestion! I will commit it to mind," he promised, feeling his chest ease with that wonderful happiness he had missed. He peeked through his bangs at Claudia, extending the plate to her. "Cookie?"

Her offended reply was a scoff and a little skull relunctantly leaving the pile. Undertaker smiled, the color of his eyes clear through the silver hair as if to illustrate his humour. Slow but sure steps to Claudia's forgiveness/acceptance of him once again.

"I will take Victor, Alice and Arthur tomorrow. The Queen has assessed all the intel I've collected for her and authorized we take a criminal facility."

The Grief-Striken Mourning Queen, or her butler? But as Claudia had said, irrelevant. "Do you wish me to go with you?"

"There's no need. I came because the children asked to, we were nearby. And seeing as I'm here, I may as well inform you." Slow, _slow_ steps towards forgiveness. "I will bring three servants with me. The proofs I will be searching won't be in any of the corpses, so I won't be in need of your help."

"In any case, I will go. Should you need me."

"I doubt it. But if you wish to, I won't spoil your fun."

"It was nice to see you, Undertaker."

"I'm very glad too, Vincent. Let's hope you two have more time to visit me more often."

.

It had been years since he had been so close to a murder as it was occuring.

Undertaker heard the gunshots, but didn't feel worried. Claudia was assisted by enough servants, and was a sharp shooter herself. Most likely, those gunshots had been her own.

As he had done throughout the night, and now as he waited for the final moments before Claudia exited the facilities, Undertaker watched the building layout. Carefree musings to entertain himself. There were twenty two windows on the upper floor, none on the ground floor. An odd and ugly building, specially so close to the two neighbourhing buildings, locked and abandonned warehouses of some sort. But that layer of bricks with no windows was like a protective shell, as the trafficking and manufacturing all happened below ground.

Weapons.

Undertaker had been hearing quite a bit about the state of regular London through his underworld channels, fellow morticians and informants seated on the East End. According to them, the news were that the Good Queen was still pledged into deep grief and no signs of improviment were being broadcasted, not even false reports to ease the common people's minds. As Claudia had refrained from addressing the Queen in his presence, it wasn't as if he would know about a closer source.

Grief was apparently keeping the good Queen's mind quite busy on war. Funny little distraction.

Resting his chin on his palm, Undertaker wished for the second time he had brought some cookies with him. Counting windows again, his weakened vision suddenly caught a movement on the building's roof. He blinked, the sudden realization making him smile under his breath. Oh, it had been quite a long time since he had seen another Grim Reaper. A surprisingly amount of time, now that he bothered to think about it. Not that he particularly missed it, but the thought was simply interesting to take note of.

The front door opened almost at the same time. It wasn't as it this was the building was set in the most crowded area in London, but even so, it was slightly odd to see Claudia exit so carelessly.

"Good, you did come. We can use the help."

Grinning, Undertaker followed her inside the ugly facility. The entrance to the underground level was extremely inconvenient, a series of stairs and loops only accessable through the top level. Climbing up, then climbing all the way back down and further. The perpetrators hardly used this entry, prefering the coverted one in the woods, but following Claudia it was.

The underground level was a rather impressive sized factory. The air was heavy, painfully rigged with burnt remains of metal and furnaces, and now blood and gunpowder. He stepped right beside a body laying in a thick pool of blood. A quick survey showed the underfed man was far from being the only casualty.

Aside from factory, it also seemed to awkwardly, and probably inefficiently, blend in with a research office, with all sorts of compounds and chemical gear of some fashion. There were also documents and research tubes scattered about, which the servants were already attending to. Undertaker approached some of the pressurized containers, further from the furnaces but still irracionally close. Up close, he managed to read some terms, like 'propane', 'ethane', 'acetic acid'.

How was anyone still alive and breathing in this place was a mystery. Undertaker looked around, and clearly, all of Claudia's party was accounted for. They had _fired_ gunshots in a place like this. How.

The furnaces were faulty from a distance. They seemed to create power to pressure plates further back, or to some other contraptions Undertaker spotted here and there. Regardless of how was this place even functional as it was, the most blantant aspect of the place was how unbereably difficult it was to breathe. The furnaces were alit, their working process having been interrupted by Claudia and the Phantomhive's servants attack, polluting the air of the underground facility with...

"Carbon monoxide."

"Yes. Those bodies we started founding last year," Claudia nodded, pilling up files from a nearby desk and handing them to him. "I made the connection as well."

"This is hardly a known or public interest company," Undertaker pointed out, turning around with the files safely against his chest. "You had theorized it were likely a known company trying to protect their public image, or some secret section downplaying their methods and killings. This doesn't seem to apply to either."

"Well, I can't be right all the time," she answered sharply. Undertaker chuckled and nodded, starting to climb up the stairs and shortly followed by one of the servants.

"This will be quite troublesome to climb up and down, noooo~?"

"You brought your carriage. It's closer than ours," Claudia's voice replied behind them, some meters further back. "You should have brought more files with you and shorten your trips."

Again, Undertaker nodded, sighing this time.

In truth, it wasn't that long of a trip. The steps were a bit crooked however, and although he should be focused on counting said steps he could barely see, instead his mind winded back to the facility below, the fest of bodies that had somehow managed to be killed without blowing every single person (did Claudia know how dangerous that was?), to his previous musings outside, the ugly layout building, the cookies he wanted to eat, the twenty two windows and the glimpsed dark blur he had caught.

He completely ignored it before, but suddenly, Undertaker stopped, eyes looking ahead but seeing nothing of the staircase or doorframe.

The fellow Shinigami from before. The corpses were all down here, but he did catch the glimpse in the roof line.

And come to think of it, the gunshots he heard earlier... hadn't been that many, given the body count below. Nor would he have listened to them, given the distance.

"Is there something you need to gather from the roof?"

"Excuse me?" Claudia asked, brow furrowed. "No. Everything we need is here."

"I see." So maybe there were just some runaways. Claudia did say none of the proofs required would be in the corpses.

When they reached the upper floor, however, Undertaker called the servant a moment of his attention. Claudia said nothing on it and carried her way outside.

"If you would be so kind," Undertaker said, big smile on his face. He didn't give time for the servant to wonder what he was to be asked, before laying all his files over the man's already considerable load. The poor servant winced slightly, but said nothing on it, resigning to his fate. Nice little fellow, he had seen and talked with that servant several times before. Undertaker patted him on the shoulder and turned the other way. Not the secret staircase down, but the stairs going up.

The Shinigami was there.

Undertaker pretended not to see him. The Grim Reaper, in return, ignored him completely as he went about his work. Of course, there was so much ignoring that could be done if the Grim Reaper would feel the presence not belonging to a human... but he did not.

The rooftop was flickering with the light of the cinematic record. The reeling sound brought goosebumps all over his skin for some reason, but Undertaker ignored it.

His coworker was mumbling quietly to himself as the images flied in front of him. The record was close to the end, and Undertaker witnessed it. THE END, blackened, blurred. He couldn't see it given the distance and his eyesight, and yet it was like the image was branded so deeply within him he had almost forgot it was there all along, and now, resurfaced in clear light.

"No further comments," the Shinigami said quietly, stamping the file in his hand and closing it unceremoniously. He moved the file to the back and opened another one, barely spinning on his heels and moving the Death Scythe over the next corpse. A stab, and the rooftop was glimmering anew.

"Gilbert Dankian. Born 18 April 1838. Died on March 1, 1862, from bloodloss of a gunshot wound to the lung."

There were a total of four bodies in the rooftop. Two of them were right by the top of the stairs, shot down in their escape attempt. Undertaker had stepped over them on his way up outside, curiously peeking at their faces and the breathing contraptions they wore. The remaining two were further ahead, where the Shinigami now stood.

Undertaker approached quietly, the cinematic reel pouring from the fatal wound and rolling in the night sky. The Shinigami's monochordic voice continued his narration, still ignoring Undertaker as he approached. He was distantly aware of the fact Shinigami could remain unseen by humans, and cinematic records were not visible to human eyes, only to supernatural creatures. For some reason, his nature was not identifiable by the Shinigami, who could therefore continue his work assuming he was as invisible as he would be to any human being.

The cinematic reel showed Gilbert Dankian's life, with now two witnesses of his unique experience as it rolled to its ended. Although he couldn't approach enough without blowing up his unintentional human-disguise to the Shinigami, Undertaker listened to the young man's voice and life, how he had left his home in the pursue of chemical research despite his poverty. A tutorship nourished what was a clearly brilliant mind, even to a science unenthusiast like Undertaker was. Several moments with a notable amount of people appeared in the cinematic record and their voices echoed in the rooftop, compliments and exchanges that blurred into rumble. As far as he could understand it, the young man had started to develop some form of method of chemical combustion, following thesis from German reports his tutor had got him to study. The tutor was clearly no benefactor, however, as the young man found himself coerced into working for a suspicious criminal, and consequently held captive in this very facility with several other men and one women, down those crooked steps and loops below where they now stood.

So that was why the carbon monoxide poisonings had been disguised as suicides by drowning. They weren't low class manpower. They were scientists and chemists, whose disappearances from the public circles had to be justified in order to end any form of investigation. The bodies had started to come to his and Claudia's attention one year prior, but had been sparce in between, and maybe they missed some bodies altogether.

The reel rolled as the young man, coughing and sweating but still tenaciously working, jumped in a startle when gunshots exploded around him. His confusion was narrowed to one of the capturers roughly manhandling him and forcing him to run through a passageway Undertaker hadn't seen in the chambers below. Threats and pleads and gunshots as the capturer was followed by two other armed pals, and persued by one of the attackers.

The rooftop mirrored in the cinematic record as the two men had made their way up here, the young man held at gunpoint and stumbling in his attempt to follow the capturer as both stepped hesitantly backwards. The two men at the top of the stairs were killed and the attacker emerged from the steps, gun aimed at Gilbert and the capturer.

 _"I'll kill him! I'll kill him, you bitch!"_

 _"Please! Please, I just want to see my family again! Please, I didn't want-"_

 _"You hear? You hear, uh? I'll blow his poor brains out if you move. I'll let you take him. You let me go, let me go to that warehouse over there, and you save the litt- Don't! I'll fucking kill him, you b-"_

The gunshot exploded and both the young man and the capturer stumbled back. Gilbert fell to his knees while the capturer staggered back, gun pointing blindly to the side before a second gunshot must have hit him and threw him hard to the floor. Gilbert chocked and coughed up in pain, spraying red beneath him and one blood trail spilling from his lips before he fell down, face scrapping the ground.

And the cinematic record reached THE END.

"No further comments." The Shinigami stamped the file and closed it. His eyes turned towards his side, to Undertaker, moving to the stairs further behind him and the footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing here?" Claudia stepped outside, not bothering to even look down to watch the bodies of the capturers fallen at the entrance.

Undertaker didn't lift his eyes from the young man's body, not to the Grim Reaper who turned his back to them and moved to the edge of the building before falling down, not to Claudia who stood still behind him.

"Are you looking at something?"

"I will need to take the bodies."

"What?" she repeated, now stepping forward and turning around to face him, blocking his view of the young man. Undertaker raised his gaze then, almost close enough to see Claudia clearly. Her expression was stern, annoyed, her mission succeeded but now demanding more of her work. She was already ready to continue on to investigate further, move on to the next case. Not think of any irrelevance surrounding this case. "The bodies are irrelevant."

"They have masks," he said absented mindedly. "I need to investigate their origin."

"I already took one of the gas masks from one of the capturers below."

"I need to take the bodies."

Her brow twitched. "You are not taking twenty bodies with you."

"I don't need twenty bodies. I need one."

Undertaker didn't point to it, and Claudia didn't move to see which he meant. Her eyes darkened, her breathing slowled before she exhaled silently.

"Suit yourself. We will be using your carriage either way."

.

They didn't drink tea in his parlour as often as he would wish it. But after the longest time, Claudia granted him the pleasure of drinking a cup with him. He prepared and poured it for her, his cookie jar placed beside her on the coffin. He moved another coffin and placed it in front of hers, therefore perfecting their tea session surrounded by coffins, candles, spiderwebs, skeletons and dead bodies.

"Have the children been doing well?" he asked as he brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes again and pinned it beneath his hat.

"Vincent once told me about your lockets."

He raised his eyes and nodded, bitting his bone cookie. "Did he? He liked them. He was so young then."

"I see you've made one more."

"I have."

"I'm sorry."

Undertaker turned his face to her. Although he believed the words' honesty, Claudia's expression was stern, cold. She sipped her tea calmly. It wasn't as if they weren't used to have conversations most would deem somber under the tranquility of tea, yet, something felt different.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?" There was no point in not addressing his thoughts.

Claudia didn't seem surprised with the question.

"I know you've made a locket for the man."

Was that it?

"I have."

"I would assume funeral lockets would be something precious and intimate." She didn't give him time to say anything on the matter. "Why was the man important to you?"

"Because he died."

"You'd be without room in your entire parlour if you bothered to make a memento out of every single deceased person that crosses your hands."

"Does it bother you?"

The tea cup knocked sharply against the saucer. Tea spilled over, drops falling over her dress. Claudia didn't bother, eyes locked on his.

"I shot a man under a mission and you make a funeral locket for him. Yes, it bothers me."

They had never discussed the subject. Claudia had simply known Undertaker knew the truth behind the man's death, from the very first moment she realized he had walked to the rooftop.

"Why does it bother you?"

"Don't try to make your word play me wth, Undertaker."

"I am not-"

"Shouldn't I be bothered? It makes me feel like a monster."

Undertaker knew that under the coldness and offence of her expression, the child Claudia was hurt for being percieved as something of the sort by him - hurt to see herself as something of the sort.

"I was on a mission. I had a clear objective, and clear enemies in the way of it. I saw three criminals fleeing, and I persued them. They were kidnappers, conspirators, weaponary traffickers. The circumstances didn't require me taking any of them alive, not under the orders I received. I acted accordingly."

Undertaker breathed softly, lowering the teacup next to the mourning lockets laying from his hip on the coffin lid.

"Your orders and information included the fact that there were hostages. Not accomplices, but hostages."

"It was an assumption. Confirmed on site. Yes, they used the hostages as shields. Yes, one of them tried to run through the roof, and yes, he brought a hostage with him. I couldn't let him escape, and capture, even if I had interest in it, would be impossible by me singlehanded."

"You could have waited for a chance."

"I _had_ a chance. I took it."

They fell silent. Claudia's breathing caused harsh flutters of her chest. Undertaker breathed slowly, calmly.

The wrong words in his answer wouldn't reflect on the surface, but would ripple and hurt more than any accusation or scream.

"You've become powerful, Claudia. It's becoming easy for you to forget some things cannot be replaced."

The words did not have the healing or patching effect Undertaker would have wished them to have, or the undertoned forgiving note Claudia would have secretely longed to hear. The silence remained for a few moments longer.

Claudia stood up, slowly placing the teacup and saucer on top of the coffin and quickly drying the front of her dress, even though the drops had already smudged the dark fabric.

"Have a good afternoon, Undertaker."

And she left.

.

to be continued

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* * *

.

 **Author's Note:** ...yeah, my 'small chapters' are apparently out of the fucking window. *sigh* do you like these lengthy chapters?

The writing /wording of this chapter is not special or nice at all but I actually like this one a lot. I guess I pilled up scattered information for too long and feel kinda proud of myself for finally compiling all this, perhaps. It's quite description-basic wise, but I guess I had too much trivia I wanted to dump in here. Probably not my most graceful chapter. Thoughts? Did you like it, content vs writing format?

Written to a bunch of classical music in intense symphonic metal covers and to even more Serj Tankian songs. Quite pleasant.  
Title is tied to the warning to Claudia (I know I wrote a sort of variation to the 'fail to understand the importance of things that cannot be recovered') and starting to lose sight/choking on the sense of power, tied to the victims dying of intoxication, and obviously taken from Serj Tankian song 'Empty Walls'.

(also, 8th chapter uploaded on Jan 8th. Nice)

All the background info on Gilbert D is of my random creation, including his surname which is obviously taken after Serj's because I was listening to this music.

special shoutout to **Shi no tamashii** and **MassiveMilkshakeNerd** , and everyone who reads! Hope you are enjoying it, please point out if you have any critique.


	9. In Fear

Author's Note: Again, this chapter turned out too long, so I've split it. I don't know if the next will be uploaded fast, but I do hope so.

I don't know if you'll like this chapter, but it does have a very clear and specific reason to have been written.

Warning: gore descriptions

* * *

 _._

 _1865_

 _._

The year of 1865 ended with a hunt.

.

Undertaker took his time to appreciate the date and its symbolism. What he liked the most about December was it bearing the end of year - a completely illusionary mark to measure time, yet both a form of end and continuation. After he had met Claudia thirty five years ago, he had started to be aware of the days, months, years, like he hadn't before, and so could now appreciate that turn of another year, the end of something past and the continuation to something new.

Somehow, even amongst the darkness and blood in front of him, before it attacked, Undertaker managed to think about that.

.

.

Their current case had been keeping both of them particularly busy for the past few days.

On December 24th, a Sunday, on a pleasant middle class neighbourhood near the outskirts of London, the families who were happily engaged in their Christmas's eve were quite dismayed by the twist in their holiday when the blood chilling screams pierced through their home walls. The holiday had made the Yard's intervention somehow hindered, perhaps, but in truth, their immediate response wouldn't have changed the outcome in the slightest.

Claudia called for him on Monday, December 25th. Rather than enjoy her Christmas with her family, Claudia was working, alerted by the request of help - not from her Good Queen, but the Yard. While the Queen was enjoying her Christmas with her horde of children, unaware of the newest butchering happening in her city, Claudia and the men from the Yard were working.

On that very same day, December 25th, another similar scenario had been reported to the Yard, in a different location: a street paver's household, in a different neighbourhood.

Undertaker entered the house, curious to see what required his presence on site, as the bodies from neither crimes had made it to his parlour for analysing. There was a trail of bloody footprints running from inside the bedroom into the door outside; promising. He peeked inside the bedroom, after being instructed by the Yard officer, with Claudia on his side.

Neither the Yard or Claudia had sent him a body for him to autopsy because there was no body to be found. At least, not a discernible one.

The entire division was tidy, bed still made as if their occupants had been about to sleep, or just woken up to a new day. The candle holder laid in place on the sidetable. The little cross hanged perfectly on the wall.

Then there were the chunks of meat, not even a puzzle anymore but just a littered disposal of body parts on the floor, bed, walls, ceiling.

Undertaker raised his nearly unexistent eyebrows.

"This is the same scenario as a murder that happened just yesterday," Claudia explained, gloved hand over her mouth and nose. The smell was indeed particularly strong; not only the blood, but the gore body biles and wastes seemed to gleam under closer attention, not to mention it was all particularly fresh. There was a distinct puddle of sick on a further end, slightly parted from the patterned destruction.

"Was there someone else present?"

"Yes," the Yard officer replied, he too covering his mouth. "The wife. She witnessed whatever happened here, but she's too shoked to be able to utter a clear word. The neighbours that harbored her realized something had happened given the blood on her, but she is, understandably, unable to speak."

Undertaker twisted his head towards the shapes scattered about. That was roughly a foot, yes, that was perhaps a finger, or maybe a stiffer bit of intestine. That seemed like a wet piece of paper, but it was a slice of skin. It was hard to properly tell from a distance, and he couldn't really step inside the room without squashing meat and blood. There was also something white on the bed, standing over some chunks of bashed flesh. _That_ was definately a piece of paper.

"This happened today," he repeated. It was quite clear; some puddles hadn't even fully coagolated yet.

"We were alerted about an hour or so after the fact. And it's identical to the one case reported yesterday, yes," the officer nodded.

"What is that note?" he asked the officer.

"As you see, we have not entered this site yet. But a similar note was found in the first crime scene. We were instructed to wait for Lady Phantomhive, so..."

"Please, do move on. What did the other one say?"

"We have it here."

The officer returned with a blood soaked note, paper stiff from the dried blood. Claudia held it with the tips of her gloved fingers. The backdrop was soaked from having been laid over a blood puddle, just like in this scene. There were blood smudges around the simple message in plain writing, likely from the killer's bloody hands while handling the paper: ' _No more.'_

"You will send forward both notes to me?" Claudia demanded, sealing the deal after a couple of stuttered words from the officer. "Confirm to me when you retrieve that note over there to let me know if the message is the same. I haven't been to the other site yet, but the details of the killing seem to be roughly the same. Seeing as there was no feasable body I could send to you..."

"Yes. Are we going to the other location?"

"Is there nothing you can help us with here?" the officer asked, eyes jumping between Claudia and Undertaker. The poor man seemed distraught and sick to his stomach at the prospect of having to enter the room and retrieve whatever proofs there could be retrieved. "This is...!"

"The wife could be of some use, were she able to speak," Claudia said. "We won't be able to talk to her in such short notice. I'll send one of my servant to attend to her until she can finally speak. I would like to see the similarities between the two crime scenes before I can try to do anything else."

.

The other location, and the first in the timeline, was not similar in the slightest.

Undertaker could see how someone, a police officer or a witness, would describe the scenarios as being the same. The obliteration of the body, the goreish outlook of the butchering.

But everything else was different.

Not a paver's house, but a middle class household that most East Enders would call a palace. The dinner table for the Christmas eve dinner was set - or had been set, judging by the plates scattered about. Whereas the paver's house crime scene was practically undisturbed, save for the obvious butchering, this dinner room was chaotic. A fight had clearly taken place. Judging by the destruction, it was difficult to tell exactly what had happened, but it was certainly violent. The chairs had been thrown against the walls, plates smashed, the food, potatoes perhaps, roasted beef, had merged indistinguishably with flesh, teeth and bone scatters. The table cloth hanged in shreds from the sides of the table. The very energy of the place was different. It was as if the sound of screams had etched itself to the every fiber, every inch of wall and into the very air. There was something incredibly unsettling about the place, but Undertaker couldn't name just one cause for it.

A Phantomhive servant had joined them, along with Tanaka. The two of them and Claudia stepped into the room while Undertaker remained close to the entrance.

"It's undoubtely the same killer," Claudia said plainly, carefully stepping around the floor. The size of the division allowed for some maneuvering, but even so, it was limited without disturbing the evidences. The Yard had messed the place a bit, as the sets of bloody footprints proved. "Same method, whatever method it is. But this is entirely different."

Undertaker placed his hand absent-mindedly on the wall, a clean portion of it that wasn't sprayed with blood and brain matter. It was cold, chillingly so, and that previous impression regarding the sound imprint was stronger. Perhaps due to his increased spiritual sense, Undertaker could literally feel the sting of violence and panic etched into the walls, the only witnesses of whatever had taken place within them.

"Yes," he muttered, slowly removing the hand from the wall. Right by his fingers sat drops of blood that led to a meaty splatter.

"Everything in here screams chaos, whereas the paver's house was controlled, coldly executed. Just one day apart."

"Any witnesses on this one, my lady?" Tanaka asked, prying over the dinner table.

"None. The Yard was unsure how many victims there are here," Claudia explained, gazing at the splatters as if trying to calculate them into a body count. "A couple lived here. No children. Both are missing, presumed dead."

Undertaker turned to the middle of the room, to the dinner table and the plates and dinner that had been thrashed about.

"There was a struggle here. Whether it triggered the outcome or was caused by the victim in attempt to resist..."

"The paver's bedroom was unscathed. It makes little sense for the killer to destroy the surrounds after butchering the victims."

"Only the paver was killed today," Undertaker pointed out, surveying for body parts that could lead to a more correct victim count. "The wife was not the target. Two killings do not set up a pattern, but a common link would be if both victims were male. And then there's the message."

"Where is the wife, then?"

"It would explain the struggle," the Phantomhive servant said, catching Undertaker slightly off guard, forgetting the woman was even there. "A fight might have erupted, ending with the wife killing the husband and fleeing. The note makes sense if it were the case, too."

"But it wouldn't explain how a woman could physically do this to a man," Tanaka replied. "I can't think of much that can cause this level of destruction, lest of all without being previously prepared. And why kill a paver in the very next day? In front of his own wife, no less?"

"More importantly," Undertaker gazed around to the curtain softly waving at the breeze; the window had been smashed. His voice wasn't heard by any of the other three. "What happened here?"

.

Hours later, still on Christmas day, a breathless Yard officer cought up to Claudia and her group. Another butchering had occured inside St Mary's Chapel. The resident priest, shortly after the Christmas mass. No eye witnesses, although there were devouts still in the chapel. A paper note had been found, with the same two words, the same that indeed were written on the paver's note as well.

Claudia turned to Undertaker, slightly pale. The officer on her side was bent over, helplessly trying to catch his breath.

"This is getting out of hand. The killer is active in this very moment."

"Another man."

"Not only that, a chapel. With people inside." Her gaze traveled past him as she dived deep in her thoughts. "Even if it is the woman, she's not afraid to be seen, or worse, she is capable of entering places and _not_ being seen. Alice, do you think your scenario is still feasable under these circumstances?"

The Phantomhive servant bowed her head.

"Having been triggered, she might go on a rampage. The mystery is how she is able to perform such killings, entering such places without being seen. A chapel would be hard, as would a private house."

"We haven't even figured out how she's killing them. Is it through some explosion?"

"It would explain the destruction of the body. It seems to be the only thing probable, at this point."

"How would she get her hands on gunpowder? How to transport it? The amount required to do that level of damage?"

"From first guess, I will have to say, the victims are being blown from the inside out." Undertaker's words made the officer turn his head up with a startle.

"Exploding from the ins-?" he babbled, looking to all four of them in disbelief. "That can't be."

Claudia exchanged looks with Undertaker, nodding, and immediately started the investigation. The speed of the killings was dangerously fast. They hadn't left the crime scenes for more than a handful of hours.

.

The killer gave them a day.

Claudia started on the investigation of theft of gunpowder and other forms of explosive materials. Before that, she visited the paver's wife and confirmed the woman was in utter shock, babbling nonsense Claudia didn't bother tell Undertaker. Together with the Yard, she started to run for all ties that could be found between the victims so far to explain their selection, and the different meanings that could be found behind the simple notes. Her servants worked just as thoroughly to support the servant's first theory.

Undertaker focused on the crime scenes, the destruction of the bodies, the still unsure number of victims on the Christmas dinner scene (even though he agreed with the possibility of the wife being the killer), and to the reason behind his assumption on the killing method: blown from inside. While also focusing on the method of how it could be done, Undertaker focused on the why. The meaning behind the killing, which was undoubtely explained in the notes. Revenge killings of men would mean there was a tie between them; possibly, a tie of violence of some sort. The killer was likely targetting men she had known or heard of somehow. It could work to fully confirm her identity as the wife of the Christmas dinner.

Not to mention, they had found no trace of gunpowder in the crime scenes.

On December 27th, the Yard got the call of a brothel crime. They wouldn't have paid it mind, were not the circumstances immediately irked their skin.

.

By December 28th, Claudia was fuming, her tenacity and stubborness giving no truce for frustration to sink in. She had found no direct ties between a middle class couple, a street paver, a priest and a whore monger, nor had she found evidence of gunpowder smugling that she could trace to the case. Undertaker couldn't tell her an exact formula how the human body could be ignited from the inside quite like that, and even if so, traces of gunpowder would still be found.

To her surprise, she then received word that a similar crime had happened as far as Manchester. Without further knowledge about it, she requested the reports to be sent to her immediately.

.

On December 29th, the news of another crime arrived to Claudia not through the Yard, but by a letter from the Queen.

Undertaker was with her at her summer house in London when the letter was delivered by hand by the young butler John Brown, after greeting them both and immediately proceding to speak to Claudia.

"Her Majesty has heard the most troublesome news."

"Yes, I have been investigating a series of mysterious crimes for the past few days."

"Then you will not be surprised with the circumstances of this new one. The victim, however, is Lord Tarl, an acquaitance of Her Majesty."

How Undertaker managed not to scoff was beyond even him. He paid no attention to the curt and forcefully polite exchange of words between them, focusing his attention on the man instead, whom in return paid him no mind whatsoever. Even if he had, it wasn't as if it would be obvious, with the man wearing those glasses.

"A lord too?" Claudia snapped, uncharacterically irritated as she opened the letter after John Brown nodded and turned his back to them. "How in the bloody hell am I to find a connection between all these people and prevent a possible future crime? I haven't even been able to find much on the bloody suspect!"

"So who was the good late Lord Tarl?" he asked Claudia, looking up to the sky outside. Such a bright day.

"I did know him," she replied. "I wasn't aware of his acquaitance with Her Majesty, though. I even requested his help once some years back, on a case of weapon bulgary."

Such a bright day, turned so suddenly dark.

"He died in his bedroom," Claudia frowned. "His house isn't some paver's house, he had servants. How could anyone enter into his chambers unnoticed?"

"Poor vengeful wife. She tipped Her Majesty's glass."

Claudia shot him a glare, which Undertaker ignored.

.

By December 30th, Claudia had yet to receive the reports from the Manchester crime. Sensing her irritation even miles away, as she was buried under files and reports with the Yard, Undertaker decided to go retrieve the documents himself.

Indeed, the police had to yet send them forward to London. With a document with the Phantomhive's crest and the Good Queen Victoria's, Undertaker managed to startle the officers and request the documents in question, grinning them farewell and returning to London in the blink of an eye.

.

Claudia's eyes narrowed, all-too-knowingly. Their typical inquisite expression was now deeply lined with a sharpness that turned the gaze almost dangerous.

"How come you've acquired these? So fast?"

Undertaker shrugged, smiling.

"Tools of the trade, my lady~ They were long overdue if you ask me. Now, shall we? I hope you don't mind I've taken a little peek beforehand."

The report described the crime scene in the same outlines as all the others: a gruesome sight of disjointed and obliterated body parts in an otherwise perfectly ordinary room. The first crime, the Christmas dinner, remained the odd one out, even though the Manchester crime had occured in a dinner room as well on December 24th. The same two words on a note had been found.

Still frowning, she picked the documents, picking the blood smudged note almost immediately. "The little information I've gathered on Sarah Delane was that she was born in Manchester, and her maiden name was Gainsworth."

"There is one clear link between two victims, then. The victim's name is Gainsworth. Possibly her father."

Some moments later, she pulled the note closer to her face. "This is... What is this?"

"Hm?" Undertaker glided to her side, bending over the piece of paper on her hands and trying to see what she meant. He saw the letters, of course, fully and perfectly defined and clear. "What, Claudia?"

"This blood smudge," she pointed out with her finger, tapping over the dried blood smudge on the the center of the paper, beneath the ink. Undertaker frowned, seeing nothing particularly telling about it other than it having a straight edge on one side. Claudia dashed forward to the desk, nearly clashing against his bent head that Undertaker quickly protected by straightening back up in a jolt. She rummaged through the notes she had previously layered out, finding the one she was searching for. "Look!"

Undertaker squinted visibly and approached her, the blurred outlines of the two smudged white papers growing clearer while she alligned them over the desktop. The note she had picked up was the very first one in their killing timeline, the one from that chaotic, dismaying Chrismas dinner. Undertaker could tell by the smudges - all notes had different ones.

"It was on the same day," she stated, mouth slightly parted. Again, and before Undertaker could clearly see what clue had irked her reaction, she flipped the documents he had got her, reading the report the police had written, slapping the corner of the paper. "Yes! I would have known right away had I read this, but the blood too..."

"The Manchester killing happened on December 24th?" Undertaker asked, immediately answering his dumb question; yes, he had peeked the report himself. The date was duly noted. Claudia had got that conclusion prying at the notes alone? And what was so important about it?

"Yes. On the _24th,_ " Claudia turned the report to him, where Undertaker was sure the date was written, even though he couldn't see it. "It was on December 24th! Which..."

Undertaker realized what her point was, widening his eyes. He raised his gaze to her, seeing Claudia's enthusiasm and adrenaline suddenly disappear from her body, her arms falling against her hips and the report uselessly hanging from her hand.

"Which is impossible."

Her sudden loss of energy stinged him like a physical blow to his chest. Unconsciously wanting to help reigniting the spark in her, Undertaker raised his arms to attract her attention.

"Wait, please. Return a few steps back, to when you started to solve the case. The notes?" he said, trying to make Claudia engage again into the investigation. Her reaction had been so abrupt and visible it truly felt like something had suddenly been damaged, a feeling Undertaker wouldn't be able to rationally explain even if he wanted to. "What did you see in the blood?"

"The smudges. They match," she replied, arms still hanging on the sides of her body.

"Oh? Match, as in..." he gazed down, seeing how Claudia had alligned the papers. He finally saw what she meant; while writing the notes, the killer apparently had the two paper sheets layered on top of each other. The blood smudge extented from one piece of paper to the other seemlessly, in a single flow of brownish red, like a brush stroke. When apart, the smudge on the second piece had a rough, unnatural straight edge. Which meant the killer had not only written both notes, they were written at the same time - only then could the bloody smudge flow and match like that. The fact that Claudia had picked up on it was impressive. After a quick rearrangering of his own, he saw no other notes had matching blood imprints.

"So, the note found in London and the note found in Manchester were written at the same time - at the dinner in London, December 24th. We didn't yet know for sure the date of the Manchester killing, but you guessed it just by looking at this?"

"It shouldn't be an indicator _per se_ , no," Claudia admitted, still slightly absent-minded, but thankfully returning back to herself. "Clearly I was right, the report confirms it so, but in it and on itself, it would only mean the killer had been in London, and then traveled to Manchester immediately afterwards. I rushed my conclusion. The blood smudge on itself doesn't prove the timeline."

Undertaker frowned. "Regardless, you were right. The report says it happened on December 24th."

"Yes, but it can't be." Claudia stepped to the desk again, laying the report on one side and quickly surveying her own handwritten notes on her thoughts and conclusions about the killings, rearranging and alligning the paper sheets.  
\- December _24,_ Christmas dinner, London  
\- December _24,_ Christmas dinner, Manchester  
\- December _25,_ Paver's house, London  
\- December _25,_ St Mary's Chapel, London  
\- December _27,_ Whitechapel brothel, London  
\- December _29_ Lord Tarl's mansion, London

"I fail to see the issue. All are centered in London, covering both poor areas as well as healthy neighbourhoods. The first killings were very fast, then there's a gap of two days between them. Perhaps to plan, or to pick victims. Only the Manchester one is the wild card in geography."

"It's more than that. It destroys the whole case," Claudia retorted, the frustration again rising. "The report says: _'The housekeeper was alerted by the commotion in the dinner room, knowing Mr. Gainsworth was not expecting family visits, and she found the gruesome scenario. She ran in fear of her life in the dead of night to the nearest neighbour, nearly two miles away, where she gave a shocked and distressed report of what had happened. Due to the late night hour and the distance, authorities could only arrive at the early hours of the 25th, when...'_ he was killed on the night of the 24th. _"_

"Which was the time of the dinner in London," Undertaker said, quickly seeing where Claudia's frustration elapsed from. "We've proved the connection between the victim and our suspect, but now the chronology doesn't match. The same person wrote the two notes, both immediately after committing the Christmas dinner crime. Our evidences lead to believe the first murder wasn't premeditated, and probably elapsed from a violent fight. This happened around 7PM to 8PM. The Manchester killing would have to had happened roughly at the same time, seeing as the report makes mention at the housekeeper hearing a commotion in the dinner room. Unless it was a prearranged ordeal between accomplices, for a single killer to have traveled that distance in the same night..."

"It's impossible."

Undertaker reached the same conclusion at the same time as Claudia.

"Not only that, it couldn't be accomplices," he noted. "The blood smudge was transfered after the murder had occured in London. The second note couldn't have been left in Manchester by an accomplice prepared beforehand to do their killing there. Only it it were a copycat, and even so, it's impossible. Not under such short notice."

He raised his eyes to meet hers, her frustration giving place to resilience as it turned all the gears in her mind.

"We are not dealing with a copycat," she started, voicing out her thoughts like she always did around him; like he was her own consciousness, and her usual inner brainstorm could naturally be exchanged between them. "It's impossible that the two murders on the 24th aren't related, commited by the same person. One was Sarah Delane's husband, the other her father. They're the same, save the chaotic, destroyed room. Alice's theory is the most logical one, and one I haven't been able neither to fully prove, neither disprove. I was starting to gaze the possibility of an accomplice; was that how the fight started in the first place? Maybe a lover, jealous husband snapping and vengeful couple killing him gruesomely? It _would_ make sense if it were an accomplice then, one to bring in the powder - but then, it would turn the killing premediated. And then, all the other men? What is the connection, if it was all about a love affair discovered? But now, Manchester? Manchester couldn't have been neither one killer or a pair!"

Claudia apparently remembered she needed to breathe, and the short pause fueled the completion of her thesis.

"You said it: it cannot be an accomplice, not with Manchester happening so shortly after London. The handwritten note was written in _London._ That first crime scene is the key to everything, and regardless if I can't prove if it's a single killer or a duo, it shows it wasn't premeditated. An arranged slaughter wouldn't meet this chaotic scenario, not even if the killer found resistence from the victim. All murders have been the same person, unquestionably. But how could a person be in two physical locations that are over two hundred miles apart from each other, within a span of just under an hour? There is no logical, possible way for this to have happened. But I cannot be convinced this is not the same killer. I could bet my own life on it."

While listening to Claudia's reasoning, or rather, at the same moment he too understood it was realistically impossible for someone to commit such crimes at such distances, the cold shiver that ran down Undertaker's spine also told him it was _not_ fully impossible.

It wasn't as if he hadn't crossed that same exact distance under less time.

However...

No Grim Reaper he had ever known, or would ever know - he would bet his own existence on it - would ever kill a human being quite like that. Tamper with human lives?, he had no doubt about it; he was the living proof of it. Slaying human beings?, not unheard of. He also knew what a Death Scythe could do to a human body, least not of all his own. Other Grim Reapers could surely conjure up unique modifications to their Scythes.

But he could analyse the information just like Claudia had, with suddenly and painfully less variables and a more objective answer.

The London Christmas butchering was particularly proeminent because of the chaotic scenario it presented: rushed, panicked, terrified and deadly. Those very emotions etched into the walls in a way he could feel. Whatever had happened, went as far as destroying the dinner table and breaking the window of the room. The Manchester killing happening at such a close time period could only work to seal the question in his mind that there had to be a supernatural being behind, or at the very least involved, in the killings. It could work as a statement that, whatever happened to start this rampage, it started on the London Chrismas dinner. Unpremeditated. Elapsing from a Christmas dinner gone wrong, some violent quarry, a fear and a panic that were too painful to even imagine, too frequent to be bearable. _'No more.'_

After that, Manchester followed immediately afterwards. There, the killer would find a victim that too, would hurt them _'No more.'_ Something physically impossible to be achieved, yet possible due to the killer's longing, desire.

So, whatever started it, started in London, under that chaos.

And suddenly the gruesome nature of the killings no longer seemed strange or mysterious.

Undertaker had not realized how piercing Claudia's eyes were, nailed to his own until he finally managed to return out of his thoughts and stare back at her. That same previous resilience was there for but one instant before Claudia quivered under the flash of dread he couldn't hide from his eyes.

"What do you know, Undertaker?"

"The paver's wife. You spoke with her."

"I tried to. She barely saw me."

"What did she say?"

"Not much. What was she did mutter was natural confused and babbled speech. She clearly saw her husband die. She couldn't mutter a sentence and was hard to understand full words. Or at least words that weren't ressembling 'blood', 'monster', 'demon'.

.

to be continued

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Author's Note: This chapter would have turned 10000 words if I didn't stop here. Sorry if it's not too interesting. Hopefully it is. I started to plan this part quite a while ago. Obviously, this will be directly continued in next chapter!

Remember the macabre rag doll Undertaker gave Francis? I've sketched her. I made 3 versions, so you can pick which one if your 'headcanon' for the doll. Here! hannibalcatharsis-zero tumblr com /tagged/miss-dolly

Thanks a lot to **Kiellessa,** **Indochine** , **KreuzO13** and **Sakamaki Suzuku**


	10. The Heart of the Darkness

**Warning:** Some disturbing content of varying levels. Violence is not too graphic, but yet it has its moments. It also has several references of profanity /b lasphemy, which were already alluded to in the previous chapter, starting by the whole case beginning at the date of December 24.

The trivia bit about the First-Foot and New Year stuff is something I quickly read on Victorian Era festivities. It's about the first person that crosses a house's threshold after midnight bringing a present and giving good luck to the family. It was best to be a man with dark hair, whereas a blond haired male would bring bad luck. Apparently, a woman would signify the same thing. Women should be home before midnight, and what you were doing at the strike of midnight would apparently foretell what you would do the next year.

This chapter is long. I mean _long._ The longest chapter of every fanfic I've ever written. I'm sorry for that.

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* * *

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 _December 30th, late night_

 _._

Claudia was restless by his side. She had refused to travel inside the carriage, and instead sat with him as he guided the horses to their destination.

Her words did not reach him. His mind was caged in that dinner room, its destruction. The blood and gore that were not quite as unsettling as the chilling sense of unease, unease he hadn't quite been able to pinpoint at the time.

The unexplainable, raw angst that the panic etched into the walls had made him feel.

"How?" Eventually, the single word managed to pierce through his haze. He did not reply.

The only other words Undertaker heard were when he stopped the carriage in front of the familiar summer house.

"Don't even think about it," Claudia barked, seeing clearly what his intention was. Again, Undertaker was silent. He stepped off his seat, but Claudia shut a gloved fist over his sleeve. "You will not dump me here as some sort of unseemly luggage."

"You can be rest assured, the case will be resolved," Undertaker insisted, freeing himself from her grip and walking to the door. Claudia jumped from her seat and followed after him, catching up and forcing him stop.

"I am not a child, Undertaker. You will work with me, and you will start by telling me how we catch them."

"I will."

"Great. Then start-"

"No. I will catch them. Please stay here."

Her expression was as unyielding as his tone.

"This is my case. There are people dying, and I will catch the culprits as per the orders I was given."

"I will."

"I may not be like you, Undertaker, but I am not a child. I have seen a lot of darkness. You are utterly disrespecting me by brushing me aside like this."

"I am keeping you from harm."

"You're acting like I'm an incompetent nuisance. If what I know about them isn't enough, then you will teach me what you know about demons. And that's that."

Claudia had read his expression before, when his own realization had dawned at him. That final, almost redundant confirmation - the babbled words the paver's wife had told Claudia - were just a catalyst. Like himself, the pieces fell into place in Claudia's mind. It had taken her a moment to fully accept, the surprise clear, but when she acknowledged it, she did so with simplicity. The case had found decive proof, the culprits had been identified - all she had to do was catch them.

As if it would be that simple.

"Do they have a weak spot? Do they act solely upon command? Books don't dwell much on these."

"I told you once, it's-"

"Rather than pester me, you ought to teach me instead," Claudia interrupted him sharply.

"You cannot fight one of them. I can't make this any more blatant."

"No. I am the Queen's Watchdog. This is my case."

A soft rustle of the curtains by the window behind them caught his attention. Their voices might have been slightly too loud and traveled inside the summer house. Instinctively, he knew it wasn't Tanaka. Undertaker felt who it was right before the front door opened, and Claudia turned expecting to notify her butler of her business that night and instead found Cedric standing at the threshold.

"What are you doing here?" Claudia's eyebrows arched.

"Claudia," he greeted her, the smile wavering too fast at confirming the tones he overheard were indeed sign of something being wrong. "How is the case going?"

"What are you doing here?" she repeated. "Where's Tanaka? Why aren't you at the mansion?"

"Tanaka is here. I mean, not here now. He went to retrieve information on my behalf."

"Information? What about Vincent and Francis?"

"I left the servants in charge. Everything is all right."

"Good of you to have come, Lord Cedric," Undertaker greeted, the smile fluttering to his face by reflex. "If you please, take Claudia inside. We have been working hardously as of late."

"You stop this immediately, I am not being left behind" Claudia snapped, turning to the both of them in a jolt. "I've had a major breach on the case, Cedric. Inform Tanaka when he returns."

"That's what-"

"Claudia should rest," Undertaker said instead, just as Claudia turned on her heels and started walking down to the carriage again. "As expected, she is not taking my current advice."

The man eyed the both of them, confusion splattered on his face. Undertaker prepared to go after Claudia. If need be, they would wait for Tanaka to return. Her husband and her butler would have better chances at persuading her.

"No."

Undertaker turned back to Cedric instead, and so did Claudia. Cedric wasn't facing Claudia however, he was facing Undertaker. The man was holding his ground just like he did when he was younger, arguably more determined now.

"Claudia won't stay here if she doesn't want to."

Amusing as it might be, now was not really the best of times for Cedric to play the part of loving husband. Not quite like that.

"I wasn't really suggesting it, Lord Cedric."

"Neither am I. Claudia said she has a breach on the case. Why wouldn't she persue it?"

"Because she's forgetting the importance of things that cannot be recovered."

" _'The importance of things that cannot be recovered'_?" Just as Claudia was about to address Cedric, Undertaker's choice of words made her snap at him once more. "That again? We're talking about a case, _murders_ , and catching the ones responsible _._ Not your bloody metaphors, for God's sake!"

"You seem to be unable to understand my direct statements, so I tried a metaphor. I will not let you put yourself in this danger."

"Claudia's life has always been in danger," Cedric retorted. Undertaker couldn't help but roll his eyes, which none of them could see. He would much prefer that Cedric refrained from talking altogether. Why was he at the summer house, again?

"So what are you afraid of? That I will harm innocents again? Is that what we're talking about now?"

"I am-"

"The importance of things that cannot be recovered. You've told me that when I chose to kill that man, that ' _innocent'_ years ago. What now, is Sarah Delane the poor innocent soul I'll forget about when I shoot her dead?"

"It was a warning."

"Be as it may, who am I forgetting now?"

"Yourself."

Claudia snorted in annoyance. "Oh but of course."

"You need to step back to yourself, not the servant for a Queen who throws you into darkness pits to do her bidding. This is not about your reputation - you will resolve the case. You will simply let me do it."

"My husband has said the words you seem to fail to understand. If you're worried about my life, well, then you must have always been, for it has always been at risk. I can die by _breathing_ , you see, that's the one aspect of life we have always discussed about. And you also fail to understand something even greater. I _am_ the Queen's Watchdog. That is what and who I am. I am not sacrificing any part of me by acting or thinking under the Queen's orders. This is me. Clearly you fail to see there is no difference."

"Now that that's settled," Cedric proceded, not understanding there hadn't been anything 'settled' for him to continue. Even so, he ignored Undertaker and spoke to Claudia. "Tanaka has informed me of the case and victims. I knew Lord Tarl, and I want to help."

"The latest victim. Yes, I knew him as well."

"His wife and Sarah Delane, your suspect, were acquaintances."

"And you know this because?"

"Lord Tarl has... had much lower alcohol tolerance than he'd like to brag about. He shared his ailments with his wife more often than not, mentioned some of her social gatherings and friends. Tanaka described the information you have of Sarah Delane, and it seems to match with one of those friends."

"And?"

"That link with Lady Tarl may be helpful. The family has several estates within London. If they were friends, maybe Lady Tarl told Sarah Delane of some of them. She could be hiding in one of them."

"I see," Claudia's serious expression from before eased into accomplishment. "The murder happened yesterday and the deaths had been so scattered in social standard, and with the other cases, I confess I neglected questioning Lady Tarl immediately. It would have been wise to confirm that connection between the two women. So, Tanaka went to investigate the estates' locations."

Cedric nodded and suggested: "You will resolve this case, but it would be best to wait for Tanaka's return and his information will close the deal. You can rest while we wait. It pains me that this will likely extend to the New Year's Eve, but it can't be helped. If possible, come back home before midnight and you will still be able to attend to our guests."

"I'll likely be the First-Foot," Claudia scoffed instead. "Dark haired but a woman. Not too much luck."

"God knows I wouldn't bring too much luck either," Cedric smiled, waving his hand to his blond locks, this jolly casual festival exchange blending into the conversation as if it was the most banal thing in the world. Maybe it ought to be, this wonderful ability Claudia and her family had to join the macabre with the mundane.

He had been left effectively ignored during the whole conversation, looking at them and their ignorance of the depths of this case. His previous conversation with Claudia didn't seem finished, but it was something that clearly was set to wait, by Claudia's demand.

"Perhaps it'll be best if you rest here as well," Cedric addressed him again, as in a peace offering. Claudia's eyes also glared at him, albeit visibly calmer with her husband's intervention. "You will you both rest and decide your plan of action in the morning."

"I don't think I've made myself clear enough."

"You have. And for that reason, I know you will do what you have always done," Cedric finished. "You will keep her safe."

.

 _December 31st_

At least, Cedric's sudden setting of a backbone didn't include some ludicrous heroic idea of joining them in their task or anything of the sort. Tanaka did offer himself to give them assistance, but Claudia instructed him otherwise.

"Undertaker is with me."

A reassurance, something that should apeace the minds of everyone involved.

Claudia turned and stared at him, into the eyes he was hiding beneath his hair.

"Shall we?"

.

Tanaka had interrogated Lady Tarl and procedeed to provide them with the addresses of the three estates she had inherited from her late husband. They were scattered throughout the layout of the city, and the safest way to exclude them would be to verify themselves.

The first two locations turned out to have servants looking after them, and none of the servants had seen a couple, or did not know they were harbouring them.

They were told the third estate was debilitated and the family intented to sell it.

.

There was always the chance they could be wrong. This lead wasn't a guarantee they would find Sarah Delane. She could have found a different shelter. Or she could be hiding there, but they could find the place empty. The past three murders had a two day gap between each; it would make sense if another happened today. Without a lead on whom the next target might be, this was definitely the strongest one they could follow, but wasn't certain.

Claudia seemed convinced, however. Despite the danger, Undertaker could feel her breathing and heartbeat hastening, not from fear as much from excitement.

"You won't attack first," Undertaker said under his breath as he stepped off the carriage. He tried helping Claudia, but she averted from him and immediately started to cover the rows of streets leading up to the address.

"That's the right approach in every situation. Are you telling me to give them a chance to shoot first?"

"I'm saying if one of us attacks, it's me."

"You're not carrying a weapon, Undertaker."

"You used to have more faith in me."

"You used to trust me more."

Undertaker fell silent, deciding this would fast turn into a conversation of toddlers. The streets around them were busier than usual, with the New Year's Eve fast approaching. The socializing tradition of the date was clear, and as night started to fall it seemed to only increase the crowds. Orphans ran past couples on the road, holding prized coins they had managed to snatch or to earn, hoping against hope it would bring them much needed wealth luck for the next year. A butler followed a nobleman, carrying a wrapped present the man hoped to offer to his family or friend as the First Foot. No one paid much attention to Claudia or Undertaker. The street lamps were lit as they passed by them, the workers not paying them much attention either. Although they had started their investigation at early afternoon, the time had dragged at the other two locations. Night was set when they reached the right street.

Claudia looked up at the estates and quickly found the one they were looking for.

"There's no servants in this one. That maid told me."

"It's best if we go around the back."

"I agree."

Against his request, Claudia kept walking ahead of him, just like when she was a child solving mysteries of her own. The image of her small frame in tattered clothes and disguise came uninvited to his mind. Undertaker brushed it aside.

"They are likely to be together, aren't they?" She asked before turning the corner of the street. The light from the street lamp dimmed, slowly leaving them behind.

"Yes."

"It will be hard to attack Sarah, then, I imagine?"

"They tend to protect their contractor, but it's a means to an end. I don't know what their contract specifies."

"So, it can neglect the fact the demon should protect her?"

Undertaker mused for a second. "Demons are deceivers. It could have tricked her. If she died, it would get what it wants. But the conditions of the contract need to have been met. Therefore, it's an unlikely scenario. She's not the dangerous of the two."

"Killing her would be ideal then, as there's the chance of disposing of the demon. It gets what it wants and goes away, right?"

A heartbeat of silence. He did not look at Claudia.

"It's a small possibility. The chance is not..."

"Good. I like small chances." Claudia confirmed if her hair was appropriately tied up and cleared her eyesight, reajusting the holster by her thigh. She stepped forward through the street, her voice dropping in tone but hardening in resolve. "It'll save both of us the trouble. Killing two birds with one stone."

Undertaker wanted to tell her again; hoped the warning would at last sink in. However, the _other reason_ of the warning, the one important thing that he feared most she would forget and never be replaced, resonated in his mind. And for that reason, Sarah Delane's fate was undoubtably complex.

The chances of the woman surviving the night were extremely slim. If Claudia shot her mercilessly, then the woman's record was already settled and a Grim Reaper was bound to appear soon. There's only so much one could hope on the scenario of a fellow Grim Reaper walking into a fight with a demon, and how slim the chances of his real nature to continue undetected by supernatural beings. A Shinigami, a deserter, a demon and Claudia. Not a pleasant scenario. And then of course, was the demon itself. It had a contract. Its scavanging nature would be triggered by having a rightful, willing meal snatched under its claws. And if it succeeded, the woman would still die, horribly.

If she survived this night, a whole other matter would emerge. She knew too much, and would be put in a position of access for powerful third parties to question her and the nature of the crimes she perpetrated.

And Claudia had a role to play in the outcome. If she killed Sarah Delane, then it was one nail deeper into that coffin she was crafting for herself. But if she didn't, then someone else would have to kill the woman; otherwise, the nail would strike deeper and more dangerously.

The whole situation was an impending doom, and every cold shiver that etched into his bones only emphased it, since the moment he knew a demon had elapsed near Claudia.

Disgusting creatures. They corrupted everything around them by their very _presence._

They were close to turning the next corner when they heard them: muffled, repressed groans and whimpers of pain, turned into sounds of indistinguishable words.

Claudia exchanged looks with Undertaker, finger over her lips. Her other hand was hovering on the gun. The pained cries continued, carrying from what appeared to be nearby; just around the corner, perhaps a few meters ahead. It had been roughly clear at first, but by each slow and careful step they took, it became certain the voice was female.

"...happening?"

"Perhaps it's enough, wouldn't you say?"

The second voice made both of them halt their careful approach. In contrast to the laboured woman's voice, the male tone was calm, borderlining boredom.

"Your body will keep rejecting it. I may not know much about it, but I do know you will keep experiencing pain for the next hours. It might be best if we ended it now. You have already got what you wanted, have you not? All those lewd, horrible men. You can rest better now."

"I said _end._ The year hasn't ended yet, has it?" The woman's attempted protest was shattered under the audible groan. "Oh God, what's happening?"

"We both agreed you wouldn't last much longer either way, didn't we? Not in that state, without medical care. But why bother anyway? The end of the year is a poetic, symbolic time. And we are so close to it. A pleasant night, pleasant time, pleasant killings. All is all right."

"I said no! I have one more. I can kill one more and then..." her voice broke under a renewed pained whimper.

Undertaker had to make the decision now. Would he take Claudia's faith in that slim chance of dispelling the demon by killing its contractor, or risk enraging it? He couldn't hope to kill a demon with a single strike; he knew better than that. So in a preemptive attack, which target would be the most successful one?

Claudia decided the matter for him. The gun flew to her hand and she turned the corner, aiming it straight ahead and holding the grip tightly as she fired.

There was a scream of shock. All Undertaker could do was witness what had enlapsed from it.

The woman was laying against the wall, bent over herself in clear distress. Her features were blurred through his weakened vision, and yet he could tell the weariness of her face, her eyes wide from shock but the physical pain preventing her from straightening back up or run. The dark stains on her dress, enlarged by the shadows of the distant and weak street lamp, were bloodied remnants of her husband's obliterated body and of the ones that followed. Against the dark outline of the night, her thin shape, tattered and dirtied pearl dress chosen for the Christmas festivities, almost reminded him of a rag doll that had lost its filling and was slouching over herself.

Then there was the thing. It looked like a young man, roughly - purposefully - around the woman's age. The clothes weren't anything near embellished or regal, on the contrary. Its face would be just as plain, which would be uncommon for their first choice - then again, it served its purpose just as perfectly as everything else. Sarah Delane was a noblewoman wanting to run from all things noble, familiar and abusive. Its shape served that desire and the purpose of their contract.

And clearly, that purpose included not letting its contractor die.

"Oh my. That was rash," it said, raised arm slowly falling back to its side. The bullet hole was neatly carved into the fabric, skin and bone beneath it. "We seem to have a new development, Sarah."

Undertaker stood right beside Claudia, assessing the scene as cold blooded as he could - as he would be. The first thing he could see was that, once again, the supernatural creature couldn't tell Undertaker's nature right away, just like his fellow Grim Reaper hadn't some years ago on the top of the factory facility.

"Sarah Delane," Claudia started, gun still raised. "You are responsable for the death of six men."

"You seem to have been discovered," the thing dragged, turning its head in an awkward angle to take in the details of the both of them. "They do make odd police officers in this age."

"Kill them," the woman hissed, trying and visibly failing to stand up straight. The demon blinked, hazed, head turning lazily back to her.

"I see only one male," it said sluggishly. "And even that seems questionable."

"How many times do I have to tell you?!" the woman screamed, her cringed teeth equal parts anger and pain. "You have to do as I tell you! Kill them both!"

"As you wish..." it sighed as if it was infinitely bored, but the grin that expanded like a disease on its features told otherwise. Its eyes fell over Claudia first, taking in the details of her shape in a way that made every fiber of Undertaker's being shiver in repulsion. "Turns out you'll be second in line, my dear Sarah. I do miss the nice warm taste of a woman. Two within the hour is wonderful."

Claudia wasted no time and fired the gun, bullet piercing through the thing's right temple this time. While the woman startled up at the sound and impact, screaming again as her eyes darted to the thing by her side in shock, the demon didn't so much as move. Its head jerked however slightly backwards, but it might have been as if an insect had clumsily bashed against its skin. Blood turned dark by the shadows and night hoozed out, dripping over its features.

Even though she knew the thing wasn't human, Claudia had never seen one in person. Undertaker could feel the chilling dread that came from her at the sight of the thing spreading its arms, the gun in her hand betraying how shaky her grip had turned.

"Oh my dear," it sang amusingly. "You cannot kill me. I'm the worst monster you feared as a little child."

Claudia didn't lower the shaking gun even after proven useless, twice. Her step didn't so much as stagger in an unconscious reaction, but it was taking her more effort than she would ever admit.

"All the monsters I know are human," she replied instead, facing the creature right in its eyes.

The thing chuckled, apparently not expecting her to engage it with no clear fear in her voice. But it could feel the one emanating from her, just like Undertaker could.

"I love the ones that try to be strong. All the more wonderful."

"What are you doing?! Kill them already!" the woman bellowed from behind it. She was still bent over herself, like she was covering or holding something on her body.

"It might be more advisable if you continued to embrance that dead piece of meat in your belly." All the amusement of but a second ago vanished in a terryfing blink of an eye. "I say, I am overlooking a breach in contract. You might not want to insist much on it."

The woman quivered, not out of pain this time.

Neither Claudia, the woman nor the demon had paid him attention. Undertaker remained still, watching the exchanges unfold. All of his real emotions, dread and disgust kept away from the mask of his face and away from his mind. The demon thrived on the feeling it was building around itself, stepping slowly and emphantically forward.

It was right on its previous words. The end of the year was a poetic, symbolic time.

One.

The end of something past and the continuation to something new.

Two.

Somehow, even amongst the darkness and the blood, he managed to think about that.

And that the best approach wasn't a preemptive strike, but rather one at the right time.

Undertaker pulled Claudia behind him as the demon darted forward, his hat falling and the lockets clunking as he threw his arm back. The Death Scythe appeared in his hand and ripped through the air in a single vicious strike that slashed deep through the demon's chest.

Sarah Delane screamed again, barely managing to hold herself up against the wall. The demon was thrown against the wall on the other side of the street, blood splattering on its trail, bones cracking under the impact.

Behind him, Claudia's breathing had been caught on her throat, eyes wide and mouth gapping, gun uselessly hanging from her fingers. Undertaker pulled his scythe back, the familar, wonderful grip of it having the same feel as before. The drops of blood echoed as they glided on the blade and dripped to the cobbled stones. He brushed the white bangs off his face; if this was to be familiar, then this detail should be as well.

Claudia stepped behind him. He raised his arm, and she stopped immediately.

He knew better than thinking he could kill one of them with a single strike.

"I haven't seen one of you for some time now," the demon growled, twisting itself on the ground and lifting its shape back up like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. A nightmare. The blood catching up to its mouth was spit towards Undertaker. "I do miss it. I shoved his pretty glasses deep into his squishy bright eyes and teared off his head last time. Was it the time before that one?"

Undertaker teased the clasping of the chain lockets around his waist. The clanking from before had been almost painful to his ears. He would damage them. As they were freed, his outer robe hanged open and grey cloth slided off his shoulder, unrestricting his moviments.

"Please, hold them for me," he asked Claudia, extending his arm back again but this time gently. He didn't remove his eyes from the creature as Claudia shut her fist tightly around the locket chain.

"You don't have your neaty glasses now do you? I've heard about you deserters," the thing hissed. "You are pretty neatly scarred too. Ooooh, this will be delightful. You must believe you are so used to pain already."

Sarah Delane had started to drag herself back the street, fighting against her body to try to run. The street would be the safest route to escape, but there was so much wishing could do. She fell over the steps of the back door of the estate and pushed herself inside. Claudia reacted behind him, but could not step forward or aim her gun, not from her position and with the two in front of her.

"And the tasteful, _delicious_ pain of loss," the demon continued, taking one step forward. It's body twisted disturbingly, bones cracking off its joints and back again, a play to enhance its frightening aura. "Oh, was that what killed you? Loss hurts infinitily more than a cut to the skin. Let me wonder~ a family? A sweet, _delightful_ and loving wife and a little horde of children, was it? Or just the one, a little fragile bird you saw starving to death and couldn't even save the smallest memento of? And through it all, you were the one surviving, witnessing it all and being left behind alone. How _painful_ it must have been. Hmmmm~?"

The demon cackled and its eyes rolled to Claudia.

"Oh, my goodness. How I love to rip loved ones apart limb by limb."

Claudia tried to fire, but wasn't fast enough. The demon pulled out a dagger off its clothes and threw it through the air, darting after it immediately. As it expected, Undertaker glided to Claudia, the dagger sinking into his chest in a burning pinch. The instant he slouched over, the demon was over him. Gritting his teeth, the scythe arched upwards and missed, but the demon was forced back, hopping on its feet playfully. The smirk was monstrous.

"My oh my. That must hurt."

"Not as much as yours," Undertaker granted him the reply. He effectively blocked Claudia's emotions in that moment; he would be moved by her concern later.

The focus now had to be on how close Claudia still was to the demon, dangerously within reach. He hated the idea of being separated, but it would at least prevent her from harm and witnessing the end of this. The demon wouldn't be bothered to carry many weapons, when he was intended to kill men by oblitering them from within. The dagger was but a whim; and now one less mean for it to attack. It was reduced to close range strikes now.

Or maybe not.

"That is one delicious little mynx right there," the demon resumed its teasing. "Is she your new wife or your daughter? Maybe both, is it? Have you been trying to play house with that little human? Must have warmed your cold dead heart to see such a beautiful living doll. I can _bet_ it would just _kill_ you to see her die. Can a dead person die twice, I wonder?"

Undertaker darted to the demon, scythe cutting through the air and Claudia took the cue, charging down the street to the door of the estate. The scythe almost cut through it, but the demon vanished and the blade obliterated the wall behind it instead.

Undertaker stopped breathing. The dim light on the street quivered and vanished as shadows enlaced the very air, rasping strings of it surrounding Claudia. She staggered, caught in the fluttering darkness.

"Is this supposed to scare me?" she shot at the air, fists shut tight around the grip of the gun and the chain of the lockets. Undertaker spinned on his heels, oxygen stopping him from thinking. His fists shut around the snath and charged forward to her.

The laughter resonated into their very bones.

"It's not you I'm after, dear."

Claudia turned around swiftly, gun raised again. Undertaker saw her and stopped his attack, breathing failing him once more before the pain and fire ripped through his back, forcing a groan out of his lips and throwing him to his knees. Claudia's scream was worse - so much worse - as she fired the gun and the bullet hit bone harsh. The demon staggered back this time, but the unhuman growl was not of defeat. All Undertaker could do was grab a hold of the Death Scythe falling by his side and arch it forward.

He caught the demon through the ribs as it launched over to Claudia. The demon fell to the ground, blood pouring in a flow out from the open wound, sinking in the trails between the stones. The growl was of pain now, a threat drowned as the blood fell from its mouth. Gritted teeth were drenched, making it look like a dying, dangerous animal, its eyes glowing a hellish red and squinting at Claudia.

"Fucking whore. Smart one, huh."

Undertaker grit his own teeth, the throbbing pain threatening to pull him down but his body forcing himself to stand up again. The demon eyed the both of them now. Its chest was jerking out of pace, clothes weighting and pulling him down as well, soaking in too much blood.

It wasn't trying to grin again. Its features were transformed and disfigured to a glimpse of what it really looked like.

"I don't need to waste my time with you or your little human whore," the demon spat at Undertaker, "I can always come for her later, when she tries to slit her wrists to join you in your afterlife. I don't need her. I have my dinner ready and served."

Undertaker didn't lower his guard down a second time. But when the thing disappeared, the very air was suddenly easier to breathe. The street lamp gleamed with a renewed light.

Claudia barely had time to process the disappearance and how she could let her repressed shock unbound. She ran to Undertaker, the chain clanking following her every step and bashing against his arm as she held on to him, trying to help but still unsure of how.

"Don't," she tried when Undertaker moved a hand to his chest. The dagger was still carved into his flesh. The blade ripped itself out and took the air from his lungs with it. He couldn't held back the groan of pain, and his body wavered against his control towards Claudia, who held on to his weight with all her strength. "It's all right. You are all right."

Before she could speak further, the scream brought back the horror.

"NO!"

Claudia's head jerked up. Undertaked moved his eyes to the window of the estate, and regretted it.

Sarah Delane had thrown the window open and herself out of it. Her body didn't even fall one meter before she was caught in the air - _stopped_ in the air by the same darkness that had drown out the light before. The street lamp died out precisely when the darkness ripped through the woman's flesh, blood raining down to the street from the hooks. Her screams pierced through the night as she was shoved back by it with a strength that could not be real, carrying on as her body and bones crashed through the glass of the window and she disappeared into the estate.

Something wet, heavy and dreadful smothered the screaming for good.

.

The minutes could have been hours or the hours could have been minutes. Undertaker only realized he had fallen to his knees when the cold managed to throb louder than the stabs on his chest and back. Claudia was standing up next to him, walking towards the door. Her hair was untied, strings of it fell ruffled from their previous binding.

The demon was gone. It had been too weakened to dare return, even if it knew Undertaker had been injured. Even so, even knowing that, they needed to get away from there. Claudia needed to get away from it.

He needed to stay. His regaining consciousness brought with it the one thought he couldn't let go - he had to destroy that estate and whatever had been left inside.

And instead, Claudia was walking towards it.

She ignored his plea. His lungs protested and his muscles screamed but he had to force them to work, to pull himself back up again. The Death Scythe disappeared from his grasp, leaving him suddenly unbalanced, but he soon recovered and did his best to follow Claudia, catch up to her before she could continue.

He did when she was already on the second floor.

There was blood deliberately splattered on the wall, not quite like the murder scenes it created the past days, yet unequivocally and chillingly reminiscent. It had formed shapes and lines into a grotesque and dramatic lettering. The blood trailed down in thick bold lines, lines his weakened eyes could read.

 _I reaped hers out for you._

Always the clever ones, the disgusting creatures.

Right below the message was the body. This time it had left a body. It had also left the one rotting inside, now ripped out of the womb and laying mashed over bloodied fingers.

Claudia was standing so still she could have stopped breathing. Her gaze had descended along the dripping lines to the carcass tossed at the floor against the wall.

Undertaker exhaled a slow, controlled and deep breath that sunk a sharp stab on his ribs. He could feel the heartwretching, dreadful array of confused emotions emanating from Claudia, made so much more intense by the touch of her freezing hand she placed over the sleeve on his arm. Her fingers clasped tightly around him, the locket chain hanging from his arm.

.

He had to summon the Death Scythe again. His shoulder quivered at the stretched injured skin of his chest, but he insisted. A single trace of rage lined his strike.

The neighbours could have somehow mistaken the previous screaming as festivity clatter, but not an entire building collapsing over itself.

.

When dawn broke, spilling bruise colored hues over the black of night, turning blood red to orange and so quickly clearing them to white and blue over the sky, it felt wrong. The morning rose just like any other day, washing away the darkness and horror like it never happened.

It felt wrong something like that could have happened when a dawn rised like that.

But it had, and it could never be cleansed away.

.

Claudia was silent by his side for the whole of the journey back to his parlour. She should be home by now, Tanaka and Cedric should have been warned, but neither of them seemed able to be parted just yet, the horrors of the night binding them for a few more minutes, a few more hours, perhaps as if that would help both of them apeace their own respective fears. No one else could quite share what they did.

The funeral parlour welcomed them in the darkness that was sudddenly foreign, cold and mistrustful, even in this one place that had always been comfort and shelter from the outside. Claudia tried to stop him, but Undertaker clearly stated he wouldn't yield, and so she waited by the door, that darkness lingering all around until Undertaker sparked the first match and set the candlewick alight. The warmth was immediate, and yet, it still didn't feel enough. Undertaker finished lightening the second candle and placed it down on the iron candelabra, slowly moving about the ones to follow.

She helped him through his bandanging, even though it was clear she didn't fully know what she was doing and how she could help. Undertaker appreciated the effort, as he did her cold fingers carefully brushing his skin as she cleaned the wounds before she helped him with the bandages. They remained silent for the whole time. Claudia's eyes fell over the scars on his chest, arms, the exposed one on his neck, more than once. He dressed up again, walking slowly to his desk. Claudia followed him and sat over one of the coffins on the ground. The candles' flickering light carved shadows over her face, aging her deeply.

"How did it happen?"

The first words in hours.

"How did what happen, Claudia?" A whole too much had happened in a single night.

"The demon. How did Sarah Delane called... summoned him?"

"It's not relevant."

"How... why... Why would someone call something of this nature?"

"It's irrelevent, seeing the ending is the same."

"But..."

Undertaker lifted his eyes to her as Claudia tried to look for words.

"Wouldn't it change anything, knowing what happened, how it happened? How did this woman and that monster cross paths, and she pledged such a vow to such a creature?"

"You are trying to find reasons to justify this end. You can't humanize her death, Claudia, because what killed her wasn't human. That's why demons are monsters not to play with. For you, knowing how it all began would bring you compassion for the woman, and only bring more unsettlement for how she met her death. But it is all irrelevant for the demon, and irrelevant for you moving forward."

"But why would such a creature serve a human, why would such a thing care to play dress-up? Why not just kill her right away when she summoned him? What made him decide at that moment he was going to kill her, and hadn't done it before?"

He knew it would upset her. Claudia was too rational. Demons were beyond rationalizing.

"They play with human lives."

"That's it? He spoke of a contract. A Faustian contract. They can break them as they please?"

Undertaker breathed out laboursly. "No. They can't."

"Then the contract ended? Was it bound to end before we intervined, or did she breach the contract because of us? And he just played a role before that to... what? Is the process before it just seasoning? They are just making the meal more tasteful?"

The silent answer didn't work to apeace her lingering shock. Worst, it only fueled her further, against Undertaker's wishes, against his rational fear rooted in irrational panic.

"How can it not be relevent?"

Undertaker could feel how the pause of seconds of silence was rooting her troubled thoughts deep in her mind, sinking in and never again letting her go.

"Regardless of the book in question, all tomes I've read mentioned a toll; something to 'pay the passage' of the demon. Whenever I thought about the subject, I couldn't understand whether this toll was the person's own soul, or if it was another's, a sacrifice. The information was contradictory, as were the very requirements of the summon-"

"Claudia..."

"Sarah Delane didn't prepare any ritual. Nothing close to any of the ceremonies I've read about in those books, describing a sacrifice before the demon could come, and even then, it wasn't garanteed. It was like she could summon him out of sheer will, like a prayer-"

He didn't try to interrupt her this time. Claudia's words were suddenly cut as the madness started to shape and order to her.

"It's not a prayer to God, it's against Him. Isn't it?" Her piercing eyes turned to him. All he wanted was to keep her away from such darkness. Like a nameless and irrational fear, it had always been too much for him to imagine how it would affect her, how it would make her react, how that incomprehensible loyalty to that woman ruling over her would make her react. "He got a sacrifice. That was what the demon meant. That's how it happened."

Undertaker wanted to hide his eyes; useless. He would be able to feel the expression in Claudia's face and the emotion pulsing in her veins, and she would be able to tell exactly the dread he wanted to hide.

"She lost the baby. In an argument. Her husband..." _'No more'._ Emphantic words. "The violence was a constant, it didn't cease even under a pregnancy. On Christmas Eve, that woman, Sarah, was forlorned by God that was never there to begin with. How could He, if He let her be abused like that constantly and let an innocent die in her mother's womb? She cursed Him. And that, somehow, is enough...? Too much emotion, pain and hatred. And a sacrifice. All offered to the one that was listening to her prayers."

She paused. Her own eyes darkened, hid behind the stray strings of hair and shadows.

"How could it be summoned with the sacrifice of a child, an unborn baby?"

One thing it had said had indeed been true. They were monsters.

"How could something like this happen?"

The silence that followed was, somehow, the heaviest and most painful of the entirety of that endless night.

Then her eyes unveiled from behind her hair. The wrinkles on her face were even deeper, if that was possible.

"How are you alive?"

A simple question Undertaker knew where emerged from. Claudia had always known what he was - her own notion of it, a definition she didn't bother to put out in words and likely didn't bother to fully describe in her mind either. Claudia didn't need to label him as something other than the person she had known all her life. She knew he wasn't human, and her view of him as Death had adapted through the years. She knew, and at the same time didn't.

He didn't answer, more due to not knowing where to begin rather than relunctance to reply. Claudia could have taken the renewed silence as her answer, but she didn't falter. She waited, the moments dragged into minutes. Finally she gave in.

"Forgive me. You are hurt. This conversation can wait."

No. If it was to happen, it better happen now. Undertaker breathed in slowly.

"I was punished."

"Punished?"

Out of everything that night, this should be the easiest part to talk about, with Claudia of all people. He wondered, seldom, how or if he should someday bring the subject up. Their conversation years prior about suicide could have been the best oportunity, but now here they were.

"I was so tired. All my family..." He inhaled again, breathing out next. The demon had done its game of guessing to tease open wounds, but human beings were painfully obvious sometimes. "I couldn't stand suffering anymore. No more. I couldn't live anymore, I couldn't _stand_ that the people responsible just..."

The throbbing at his chest cut his words. He let himself believe that, as he made himself believe his eyes grew weaker out of tiredness and not from the tear that fell from them.

"I tried to end it the only way I could think of. It shouldn't have been hard, but I failed the first time, and it only brought me more pain. It was overwhelming. It wasn't a second chance at living, it was punishment. The second time, I didn't fail. I had to make sure I didn't."

Claudia nodded however slightly.

"So your punishment..."

Against everything he felt, Undertaker couldn't help but smile. It only made a second tear follow suit and the weariness on Claudia's face increase.

"I was punished again. I couldn't kill myself, you see. That is a crime. It's not a crime to see your family slowly wasting and dying in front you without anyone caring, but it's a crime to free yourself from it."

"Who punished you? The same God that forlorned Sarah Delane?" Claudia's voice was laced with rage that faltered the candle light beside her.

"It's the hypocracy that stood with me, without me exactly knowing how to point my finger at it," Undertaker continued. "The hypocracy is that we who wanted to die are forced to live in that hopeless hope we will atone, and then we have to see everyone else die, everyone else who deserved to be alive. It's a penance. It's a rather endless existence, really. So I left."

"Left what? What did you desert?"

"The Grim Reapers' society. I broke the rules. In the punishment for my crime, I commited another." The smile turned into a chuckle that made his lung burn and shook another tear off the corner of his eye. "I guess I'm unredeemable, huh~ It's so funny now that I think of it. Honestly, it's hysterical. I hadn't thought about how many times I've been punished."

"What did you do?"

"We can't tamper with human lives. I didn't think that way. It's funny how our lives were tampered with but we could not. That's why I always told you my questions were rooted in selfish reasons." Why was he still smiling? "They always have been. _'What if the ending had a continuation?'_ My ending had one. Why can't I give it to people that deserve it? Why shouldn't I try to prevent the people I care about from dying? I didn't decide to continue living. Why can't I decide who should?"

The expression on Claudia's eyes was one he could feel, not one he could see. Inevitably, the thought crossed her mind. In this endless night, it was useless to pretend it wasn't there and to leave it unanswered.

"My grandmother... She killed herself."

"I know, child."

"Did she... did you take her?"

The child who smiled at Death. It was how this all began. That one child that made him smile and nurished the questions wavering at the back of his mind then.

"She made sure you were all right before she took the morphine. It's a rather redundant yet soothing thought, to know your loved ones are taken care of even if you are just about to leave them. That's why you were in the room with her."

"She's..." Claudia's voice got caught in a lump. Instead, one more inevitable question whispered out. "What's your name?"

Again, he smiled.

"I'm Undertaker now. That's the only name that matters to me."

This late at night (no, it wasn't night anymore. Dawn was breaking outside. It was another day already), she should be resting by now. He should take her to the summer house; Tanaka and Cedric would be there. No, no, it was the New Year. They were at the mansion. Or maybe Cedric was. Tanaka wouldn't leave his lady behind. He could knock at the parlour at any minute, a increasingly fearing concern about his lady's whereabouts. Yes, that was probably the right thing to do; wait for Tanaka to come get her and take her home to her husband and her children.

But this endless night _didn't end_.

"I cannot let this happen."

Undertaker blinked, his head fighting to rise to Claudia. The words didn't make sense. Claudia's face was still hauntingly pale.

"There are people calling these monsters. I can't let this continue to happen."

Any other time, he might have smiled, made some snarky ironic comment. There was no such feeling now. "You can't erradicate every demon."

"I can't, but I can let the Queen know and-"

And once more, his heart forgot its beat and stabbed through his wound.

No.

"No."

Claudia turned to him, apparently expecting him to continue as she had none reservation on her previous statement. Her face was so disturbingly pale it hindered his breathing, suddenly awakening every fiber of him and driving the exhaustion away.

"You can't."

"I can't what?"

"You can't tell your Queen. She wouldn't understand." Claudia huffed, humourlessly. Undertaker tried to stand up. "You can't, Claudia."

"I do not feel she would doubt me, as unrealistic as it-"

"She won't doubt you."

"And besides-"

"She won't doubt you. Not coming from you. Not when she's heard or had some prior contact with what those creatures can do."

"So she already knows, you're saying," Claudia raised her arms. His blood that had stained her clothes should have dried, and yet a drop fell from her sleeves as she did so. "Are you telling me to blatantly lie? To the Queen of England?"

Exasperation seemed to flood and drown his voice.

"If she knew about demons for certainity, I garantee you you would have realized it by now. Why do you think I destroyed that estate? Can you honestly not understand my point?" Could she not understand what his fear had always been, how the dark waters Claudia had always known how to sail through simply had too many terrifying depths that would forever change her?

That already had?

"Rulers in every single age and era, past present and future, will always, _always_ corrupt power if they are given too much."

"You are borderline paranoid, Undertaker. I cannot-"

"Either due to time, or to their own core nature, either due to the paranoia you just bestowed unto me, no human being can hold that much power in their hands without bending it to their own goals. Then the means to achieve these goals will change, the goals themselves will change, all due to the intoxication of it all, and in the process chaos takes over. It only brings suffering and pain - decisions are made that cannot be undone."

"How awfully poetic of you." The sharpness of her tone remained, and yet there was a new edge to Claudia's voice now. All her worry from before seemed gone. " _'When you become too powerful, you fail to understand the importance of things that cannot be recovered'_."

Undertaker fell silent.

"It's just like this. I myself have started to get too much power, established myself too deeply in my own role of the Watchdog and seen too much of its darkness. Lost focus of what's important: the value of human lives. Intoxicated by more and more power, of demons and unexisting Gods, and sacrificing others more and more until inevitably it will hurt those I love the most. A complete corruption of the person I started as. An inevitable end that destroys everything around me. This is what scares you."

"That's-"

" _This_ is what scares you. You and your bloody metaphor. It's not just with Her Majesty; your strife with her has more than one reason. You loathe her because you fear that thirst for power and control will make her harm innocents unscathedly. And you fear that will have a bigger consequence: you fear I will be seduced by all that and act just as unscathedly by her biding, that I will lose my essence you are so unconditionally and unrealistically protective of."

Undertaker was silent. Claudia had smothered his voice away from him.

"You are saying I'm like that. That I've already fallen to that place. That's where your warning comes from? I've become like one of the rulers you are so disgusted by."

"No. You're not." The words were choked, strained, hurt.

Claudia kept ignoring him, pouring out her own words.

"We shall see then, shan't we? Which one of your fears will come to light."

"Claudia..."

"Be seeing you, Undertaker."

"Please, Claudia. You can't-"

"I will do what I feel I must do. Instead of hiding behind your fears, you should start to have more faith in the ones around you."

"That's precisely why I warned you. I'm trying to help you."

Claudia opened the door of the funeral parlour. The sound and light from the world outside broke in, as if shattering the suspended reality they had been emerged in for the past endless hours. Pale early morning light pierced through the door in hazed raylights, fresh air chilling the atmosphere. The dragged raspy sound of brushed cobbled stones when someone cleared some of the new year celebrations. The tapping of steps of workers as they started their new day. The lazy distant mumble of a couple of voices.

That invisible notion of end and continuation of life. The end of something past and the continuation to something new.

"Claudia..."

"Let us have a good year." Normally, Claudia would have scoffed, smirking at her own foolish words. Now, her face darkened, her features heavy with exhaustion and anger. "Huh. What a wonderful start it has been, wouldn't you say?"

She stepped out without looking back at him, closing the door behind her and drawing out all the sound and light again.

And so began the year of 1866.

.

to be continued

.

* * *

.

 **Author's Note:** Written to every single version and cover of Mein Herz Brennt by Rammstein I could find, live and aggressive versions for the fight and piano and violin ones to the final part.

There's a parallel between Undertaker and the demon's fight and Undertaker and Sebastian's at Campania - Undertaker is tricked by the demon with the same method he used there against Sebastian, using Ciel as bait to lower his guard; and Undertaker is stabbed from the back like Sebastian is.

Thank you for reading.


	11. The end

.

 _1866_

.

"Undertaker. Come out."

The whipped command left no room for questioning. Although he couldn't help but grin as he opened the lid of the coffin he was hiding in, he knew something was wrong. She had visited him during the first days of the new year, to see how he was recovering from his injuries - unnaturally fast, of course. Her concern for his wellbeing had been clearly present, but so had the remnant of their discussion on that dreadful night. They exchanged very few words and none coming close to the subject of the argument, not even when both of them knew Claudia had already delivered a report to the Queen, whatever that report was. After ensuring Undertaker was indeed recovering, she had not returned since. It was now two weeks.

Brushing the long bangs away from his face, he saw Claudia standing by the door, having closed it shut but otherwise not stepping forward. Not going to stay long, then.

"You are in a dreadful mood today~" he jested, standing up and out of the coffin. Some normality had to be restored to their lives; he couldn't keep from smiling for too many days, after all.

"I..."

The small attempt was shaken. He had learned to fear Claudia's hesitation.

"I have decided against telling the whole truth."

Undertaker halted; perhaps a too abrupt movement, showing too much of his reaction to her words.

"I considered Her Majesty's reaction to the information, and... Any person would be fascinated and terrified. _Anyone,_ " she emphasized. Seeing as the important part of this decision was that she heeded Undertaker's advice, he wouldn't mind her emphasis work as defense mechanism; that incomprehensive loyalty to the Queen.

But he didn't grant her a vocal agreement on the Queen's human corruptive nature, either. Claudia knew his opinion, and it would feel an immature retort, a childish fight all over again. The heavy furrow on her brow was enough for both of them.

"Most of all, I considered how delivering this information would inevitably tie your involvement with it. And I chose against it."

Undertaker blinked, nodding slowly.

"You have trusted me with the truth of whom you really are for years. Maybe not in the concrete manner you confined in me on the end of the year, but regardless, you were never afraid to hide yourself from me, confinding in me. I gathered that from the moment I would need to mention you to Her Majesty, all of it would inevitably be revealed, and something like that... It's dangerous."

She paused then. It looked as if she was trying to swallow a painful lump on her throat, the last two words suddenly revealing a truth she wasn't ready for.

Undertaker should have said something, but instead remained silent. Claudia's struggle had muted him on the time he should have been her grounding and reassurance.

"This decision has consequences I should be fully prepared for, yet it seems like I'm being fully irresponsible. I _have_ to report to the Queen, and I owe her the truth on this case. However, I _could not_ do that without revealing the existence of demons and the overwhelming power they hold. Even just presenting this fact is... _should_ be the right thing to do, yet I cannot shake my gut feeling. The very mention of this will require investigation, and I'll be forced to name you as an informant. Even if I don't, it will be inevitable. How could I have survived an attack of such nature? And how could _you_ have survived? Shady characters in the underworld of London is one thing - this steps into waters that are sudenly too deep to venture. A man with such knowledge of the occult, the Queen would demand your collaboration. And exposing you in such a manner... Your nature and the realilty of Death walking about, I just cannot..." Claudia sighed loudly. "Out of two evils, I have to chose. Chosing one side and betraying another. And God help me, I didn't chose my Queen."

"You are not betraying anyone."

"I am willingly and intentionally witholding important information from the Queen. Should - _when_ \- this information comes to light another time, under another circumstance, I will be held accountable for my decision."

"Explain her exactly what you told me. If she is worthy the respect you give her, she might not accept, but understand your reasoning."

But that was the problem. _It's dangerous._ What Undertaker knew about rulers and power from experience, Claudia had started to fathom.

His own words felt too patronizing and vain. If that was his way to try make Claudia feel better, he hadn't learn a thing in the past decades about human interaction or about Claudia. Or maybe he did. It was human to use such words, even and specially if both parties knew how shallow they were.

So he had to step into his own self, regardless how his new words were rooted in dark truth.

"Let me ease your consciousness, Claudia. Why do you think a ruler of a country finding about the existence of demons is dangerous?"

Claudia scoffed, turning her back to him.

"I've said my piece. I have places to be. With the Queen, for one."

"You have answered the question to yourself. Voice your thoughts. No one hears us but the dead."

"I know the answer, so there's no point in this. Hearing the words won't make them any better or worse. You're trying to make me see they are not wrong, and they a-"

"Are you betraying someone when the information you are withholding could change the course of wars and History?"

"Don't interrupt me again. You insist on-"

"What would a ruler of a country do, should they know they could summon monsters and interact with beings above Life and Death?"

She stopped before stepping out of the door, but didn't turn to him. Without a word, she resumed her path. The hinges of the door creaked sharply when it closed.

.

Claudia's visits decreased to the point of months passing without her coming by the funeral parlour. Whenever certain guests arrived his care that might be of her interest, she often sent Tanaka as her representative instead.

Eventually, some of the guests started to form a pattern, one that left Undertaker increasingly concerned, to the point of sending a request through Tanaka.

She granted him his request. When he felt her presence approaching, he couldn't help but feel relieved despite the gloomy motives. He was _determined_ to restore some form of normality and routine back to them, as small and meaningless as it might be.

It wasn't _meaningless_ \- it was everything.

He didn't prepare a coffin reception, but rather a jar of cookies appearing suddenly in front of her the moment the door opened.

"This is new. You had yet to throw bones at my face."

"Hee hee, at least it's a sweeter surprise, I gather~?"

Claudia shot him a deadly glare, pincing a cookie out with the tips of her fingers. "Charming."

"It's been an awful amount of time, Claudia."

"I've been busy. What did you want to show me?"

Undertaker's fragile attempt started to break so swiftly. It was so sad.

"I wanted to ask you a question."

"Must be an important one," she retorted while Undertaker stepped to his desk, lowering the cookie jar on the top. "And I don't need you to make it. Yes."

Undertaker turned around to face her.

"This latest body count was significatively higher than usual, but you have been noticing it for some time now. Yes, I killed them."

Claudia was never one to feign ignorance. The coincidence of certain bodies being delivered to his care during Claudia's investigations soon proved to be no coincidence at all, and that pattern alerted him. The latest case had been a waving flag from beginning to end; a cult of satanists who kidnapped and abused children, performing ritualistic summonings. Tanaka had been the one to retrieve his autopsy reports and the information he came across with his contacts, therefore Undertaker still effectively helped the investigation.

The whole affair was distasteful and dreadful at its very core. Not just for the victims involved, but for the circumstances of their deaths. And then, the outcome of Claudia's investigation, which dismantled the sect - or perhaps a portion of it - done by thoroughly executing all the thirteen members found.

"I wish I could say the problem isn't this latest case," Undertaker began. And he wished he could say the biggest problem was the very nature of the case - satanists of an underworld sect, whom just so casually happened to peek the Good Queen Victoria's interest? What a _coincidence_ \- but it was not _._ "The fact remains that these were just thirteen more to add to the list."

"I've already said it. Yes, I killed them. These thirteen perverts, that woman last week, those hostages the other time, those criminals, that married couple, those siblings, hell, I am certain you remember them all better than I do. Don't tell me you made your precious hair lockets for all of them? You'll soon be unable to walk with all that weight around your waist."

Undertaker didn't smile then. He did remember all of them. "How many culprits have been arrested in your investigations lately, Claudia?"

"My orders don't include acting like a saviour of souls, Undertaker." She cut him before he could fully form the thought in his mind. "And don't. Don't even bother pinning your blames on the Queen. Her orders have nothing to do with my actions. Death is premeditated."

He blinked. Again, she didn't give him time to reply. "You said you used to watch people die. How would you be there to witness it if you didn't know beforehand?"

"That is..." Grim Reapers, soul retrieval lists and cinematic records and all else, suddenly it all felt too much to process, and too much that should have been explained already.

"That is just but another one of the truths of this world. Let me ease that specific concern out of your mind and leave you plently of room for all your other hundred concerns: I did not tell Her Majesty."

"I'm concerned about you, first and foremost."

"All these are my burdens to bear. All your truths, all those dreadful powers and knowledges that could chance History, they are mine to bear. Including this one you didn't tell me, but I am not so stupid not to see it: Death is _premeditated._ Whether by you, the people like you, or whichever God rules over us, people die because someone has already decided. So don't try to patronize me. All of those people I have been killing were meant to die, otherwise they wouldn't be there, I wouldn't be there, and I wouldn't have killed them. All their future victims don't die because it is premeditated that I will be there to stop it from happening. Whatever method of killing I chose is not chosen, it's decided. I'm not changing anything in your grand scheme of things, I am acting exactly like I am supposed to act. It's not only my power to do so - it is, apparently, my _destiny_. How awfully poetic." She scoffed then, bitterly. "That's all there is to it."

Too much power.

"Claudia..."

"Our conversations have been awfully repetitive, Undertaker. If that's all you wanted to ask me, I am leaving."

"I miss our conversations." That silly, little and useless attempt to restore normality. _I miss you._ Why didn't he simply say it directly?

Claudia didn't seem as eager as him to restore those precious moments. She started to turn on her heels to the door.

"Would you like me to make us tea before you leave?"

"No. I'm not working on any case now, and I'm expected at home."

"I see." His hand touched the skull he had left on the desk absent-mindedly. A couple of seconds passed before he said, just as Claudia was holding the doorknob: "I understand a lot has changed, Claudia. It doesn't matter whose fault that might be. It's possibly no one's fault."

Claudia's hand moved slowly, fingers slipping from the doorknob and resting against her thigh before she crossed her arms instead; almost childishly stubborn, like being rebuked by bad behaviour, but he knew better. She knew the reason for his request today, replied so nonchalantly, but still she came. She was listening.

"I don't wish to abandon you and leave you alone while you are going through all this. I'm tired of having things happen because they are premeditated, because they are supposed to be that way. I'm tired." He raised his face to her, one of his eyes peeking from behind the layer of hair "Without metaphors or patronizing speeches, I am asking you, please, do not push me away. Take all the power you now have into your hands and please, don't push me away."

Claudia didn't turn around. Undertaker lowered his face and nodded.

"Until then, Claudia."

"Be seeing you." Before leaving, however, she added: "I will bring cookies though, you need to improve your recipe."

The sudden remark caused a warm tickle in his chest and he found himself scoffing dryly.

"You've been eating my cookies for years now, you know~" She hadn't taste hers this time, though. The bone cookie was still in her hand.

Just as he thought just that, she raised the cookie to her lips and it crushed loudly between her teeth. She didn't spend more than a second chewing before adding: "I've done you a kindness. They are horrible."

She left him chuckling like before, like always. Such a simple, fleeting thing, happiness.

Alone in his parlour, he snatched a cookie from the offended jar and returned to his work, normality so slowly but surely returning. Some things _weren't_ premeditated; some things were choices, and he chose to be with Claudia through this.

.

.

.

He didn't feel anything.

He didn't wake up startled from a nightmare. His hands did not suddenly halt in their funeral preparations to his guest that day. There was no phantom anxiety, laboured breathing to the point of physical pain. No cold shiver without any breeze to cause it, no sense of horrible dread. No piercing ache. If the day had darkened and night fell forever over the world outside, he had sensed no signal of it.

No sort of warning.

Nothing. Anything that could have allowed him to change it before it happened.

And yet he knew.

When the guest was fully attended to, washed, stitched, fresh roses on her iced fingers, beautiful and peacefully asleep in her custom made coffin, he knew.

They had been so apart in the past months; it wasn't as if that last visit could immediately fix their routines. So, there would be no meeting scheduled, no important case under investigation to justify a work visit, or tea invitation to the town house. It _was_ Summer, and the day ought to have been pleasant, inviting a stroll and book discussion outside. They always had their personal routines, and the times when they entwined never had a mandatory rule.

They had every reason to not need to see each other on that day, as it had been happening for months. And everything was all right on the next day, and the next, until the next time they met.

And yet he knew.

When the day ended and he got no news from Claudia, like it happened so many other days, he knew.

She wasn't safe, working on her future cases, reading her books, discussing her theories, teaching Francis, writing to Vincent, busy with mundane routines, or resting and sleeping soundlessly in her bed next to her husband after a long day.

Eventually she would come to him after one such days, like so many other days.

And now she would not.

And when he knew, his hand froze over the corpse. His whole body froze, until the ice shiver caused his breathing to stagger. A sense of vertigo clawed to his head with the increased shallowing of his attempts to breathe. He barely managed to hold on to the brim of the coffin, something tightening around his throat and cutting air more painfully than any Death Scythe ever could. He couldn't breathe. This would make sense in a nightmare, but he was wide awake.

The day had darkened and night had fallen outside forever. It would never change, time would never move again.

It couldn't. It couldn't, time couldn't continue to see another dawn, washing everything like it never happened.

It couldn't.

.

No.

.

.

.

.

"Mr Undertaker!" Tanaka's surprise reflected the urgency emanating from him. "Is something the matter? Lady Claudia is not-"

"Where is she?"

"She has left hours ago. There was a sudden development on a case..."

"Claudia doesn't have any case."

"It was nothing serious. I assisted her myself with the Yard's exchanges. What..." The confusion but urgency in the man's voice conflicted with him trying to fully process the events, why they were discussing this matter on the mansion's doorway, what information was relevant at that point, and why was Undertaker here to begin with. But the man wasn't Claudia's butler for no reason. His eyes widened and any blood trace disappeared from his face immediately before his posture shifted. "What do you require?"

"Where did she go?"

"She left with two servants. The Murderer of the Silk Trade escaped captivity and butchered three police officers. Lady Claudia received immediate orders to re-capture him."

It was irrelevant whom the Murderer of the Silk Trade was. The case was _nothing serious,_ not serious enough to require his assistance nor serious enough for the victims to have reached his care or so much hear whispers of the killer's name. Yet the man's evasion required _immediate_ action. The Queen of England learned of the evasion of a non-important criminal that _very day_ and required the Watchdog to act at once.

" _Where_ did she go?"

"Western Docks, on the Isle of Dogs."

So close. _East End._ He had been so close.

"I will-"

He didn't stay to listen to the man. He turned and disappeared from the front of the Phantomhive manor, reappearing kilometers away on the West India Docks. He couldn't and wouldn't bring the butler with him, not when a human's body couldn't withstand a Grim Reaper's ability. Or bother with the fact he had just revealed his nature to the man. Neither thoughts crossed his mind.

There was no moon. Instead, thousands of stars littered the sky, the sparce gaslight lamps hauntingly illuminating the docks through hazed night mist. It was unsettling, and screamed danger, horror and pain.

None of the fears humans would feel here plagued at his mind. He had only one, and he refused to believe it.

Careful to listen for any sign of life, any trace of humans nearby, he stepped through the dock. The sound echoed time and again, step after step. The very air was drenched and heavy with all the sickening stenches East Enders had to survive with. Rats ran by the sides of the warehouses, low squeaks. The water rustled and scrapped against the harbors, like whispers in the night.

There was not a soul in the docks. No smugglers, late time workers, thieves or starving children.

How could there be no one in a place like this?

The steps tapped softly through the air. Everything seemed so obvious, so clearly perfect for a trap, a set-up layed out based on the simplest and most effective of flaws - blind emotion. Loyalty.

Love.

But no one was targetting him. The trap wasn't meant for him. No one was expecting him here.

His feet guided him on their own through a seemlessly endless row of dirty and scrapped storages towards the exact correct one, the very last one; as if some part of him knew, drawn by that invisible line that lured him like a familiar lullaby. Like he could feel exactly where to go. _Feel it now that it was over._

The open door of the warehouse now stood in front of Undertaker. The window by its side had been shattered. The door stood like a mouth of darkness, where rays of the gaslight lamp around the corner pierced inside hazily through a row of windows on the side of the building.

One of the windows was casting light over a bundle on the floor.

He saw it. If he tried, he could fathom another dark shape closer to the door, merged in that darkness. But there was no need.

A strange, distant part of him was glad his eyes weren't reliable anymore. That part was smothered and suffocated by the dread he wanted avoid with every inch of his being.

There was no soul inside either. No police. No criminal. No horde of useless bypassers who would gather for the sake of a spectacle of gore and death, but a horde of people would have never made it here. This was not a street murder, a petty theft, an accident, a terrible misfortune of some poor soul wretching about their painful lives and meeting a goreful end.

This was deliberate. Planned, however simple and matter-of-factly it might have been, and executed. _Premeditated._ The stench of filth and stale dust vanished under the metallic smell rigged in the air, weightening it down to a gagging twitch.

It was too familiar.

The first Undertaker saw was the man. The servant who had once delivered him a message at his parlour, so many years ago, and had granted such loud and happy laughs from the startle Undertaker had given him. So young then, but nearly two decades after, he had grown to be a trustworthy servant under Claudia's orders. It was the same man who had been in the underground factory facility, the poor man carrying all Undertaker's load of files. The man was now lying on his side, eyes wide, blind, mouth gaped open, a pool of thick dark blood and bowels spilled from his shredded abdomen.

The world slowly suspended around him, any faint sound hissing away to nothing, the air no longer heavy, the stench no longer bothersome. Oxygen no longer needed to breathe. He stepped forward, his body weightless, his mind empty.

There was another body close by. A stranger; an accomplice, the cuffs of his shirt smudged with blood and knife scattered next to his hand. Another accomplice, a dark bundle by the left side was slouched behind a barricade that clearly didn't do its work. He barely noticed another body fallen against the wall to his right, hidden amongst the shadows and away from the light that came from the door. A single drop of blood splashed eerily into a pool; following the sound, he found another man on an upper storey, his vantage point discovered and now laying with arm dangling over the side of the edge.

The next one was some meters ahead, the maid, another familiar face covered by strings of hair, having so recently helped them on the demon case. Hauntingly illuminated by the gaslight that pierced in through the greasy window like a sight out of a nightmare. The real, earthly outcome was a scattered body, lying face down like discarted trash. All the blood on her seemed aged, the red dimming somehow into brown under the light, trails smudged into the sepian white of her uniform from countless bullet holes. Shot from behind many more times than required to kill her.

His body kept moving against his will. In this suspended, slowed reality, his brain had no control over his legs. Over his eyes, rising from the maid into the darkness that followed, the trail of corpses so blantantly luring him to the outcome.

The light rays cutting in from the next window did not reach her. Instead, it basked burnt, yellowed light, unclear shades over the dark shape, the bod- person laying ahead.

The suspension of the world vanished and everything crashed down.

His knees bunked under him. The physical pain would feel like a caress, had he been able to feel his body for that one second. Maybe it was a blessing, how for that one moment, he felt nothing. There was nothing at all.

The black puddle gleamed faintly. Dark strands of hair stood out strangely under the half light, dipped in it like roots of some nightmarish scene. Undertaker's body crawled forward through that nightmare, somehow. Hands first slipping, clawing at the darkened pool, knees and robes soaking, white hair falling over hers now damp and dyed black. Her hands were drenched like his, fallen at her side, one so close to her face. He placed his arm behind her nape, heavy and soaked in still lukewarm blood, lifting her head from the floor. It ran and soaked into his sleeve, into his arm. A lock of hair had fallen over her face, crossing over her features and her eyes. Slowly, he brushed it aside, unintentionally smudging her face with more blood. Her blue eyes were dark, cold and blinded, away from the light that would give them the color and life they had.

He stood there, holding her like that. Absolutely still, painfully still.

She was gone.

Claudia was d-

 _This can't be real._

Her soul was gone. The Grim Reaper that came for her was gone. There was no one anymore.

She was dead.

.

No.

.

Undertaker didn't care if someone could appear, culprit or police, and see him summoning and holding an otherworldly weapon. Had anyone come, he would have killed them for stepping between him and his task.

Centuries watching human lives in cinematic records couldn't be erased by a couple of blessed decades. There was no hesitation on his hold, like certainly there was none before, on those countless times. But here, now, he had to know. It was neither denial nor anger or negociation, depression and certainly not acceptance. He had to know.

Humans need to understand, and if he had long stopped being human, the only person that helped him feel like one again had drowned in a pool of blood.

Letting go of Claudia was the hardest thing he had ever done. Carefully, he placed her head back down, loathing himself for leaving her so uncomfortable on a cold stained floor. He took her hand into his, drops falling from their fingers. Nearly dropped to the ground, the scythe's blade barely touched her palm. The cinematic record gushed out, a rush of color film shinning and swirling and for a moment giving life back to her eyes.

The row of images flooded his senses, overwhelming every part of him. The images and sounds blurred from more than his weakened eyes, and slowly drowned in front of him, laughter echoing in the worst penance the world could throw at him. Against all his will, Undertaker shut his eyes at the image of child Claudia, images exactly like the ones he remembered, the beautiful face he had seen so few years ago. He couldn't block the sound of her voice, the change in pitch from a little girl to a young woman happening so fast. When Claudia called his name, two silent tears fell from his eyes, clearing his vision for but a moment when he looked up.

He saw himself in the images, a well behaved doll as Lady Claudia once presented him with a suitable hairstyle, the remnant of it still with him now, the simple braid he kept repeating through the years to keep that precious moment with him. Swirls of white fabric, rows of faces, laughter, cries, her beautiful children and the husband that made her laugh, the monster with a human face and blood letters on the wall, the Queen Victoria of England and a white-clad young butler. A letter, a command, a trip to the docks.

It all flashed by so fast. He was already here, what he needed to see and know, but then...

 _Claudia was armed, as were her two servants. They arrived on foot, undetected, guarded by the shadows. The silence of the night betrayed by a low, hastened rustle of voices, and the gaslight lamps gleamed like haunting specters in the cold night._

 _The Murderer of the Silk Trade had two accomplices of his own. The man's face was obscured by a dark beret, and his clearly frantic haste was stressing the henchmen._

 _"Let's do this quick, now!" the man hissed through his teeth._

 _The group entered the warehouse, the henchmen quickly surveying the surroundings before following inside._

 _"Victor, cover the outer docks. There may be more men hiding. Alice, with me."_

 _"Yes, my lady."_

 _They approached the building; the door had been left ajar. Both women peered through the nearby window, catching movement inside. The men seemed to be transporting some sort of cargo, speaking in hushed voices. They were in a hurry, understandably, but not because they had been alerted. They wouldn't suspect Claudia moving on them and narrowing their escape route through the docks under such short notice, so soon after the prison escape._

 _She signalled the maid. The men had their hands full with cargo boxes, and the Murderer (what the blast was the man's name again? She didn't remember, his delusions of grandeur and his self-given criminal name had ultimately been such smoke and mirrors that she barely cared to remember much of the man besides his screams prior to being arrested by the Yard that had caught up with her at the time. He wouldn't be alive otherwise.) would be the apparent sole person to pose a threat; if he could get to reach his gun. They would be easy targets in a surprise attack; there needn't be much flair about this._

 _There seemed to be no other people inside, but the sparse lighting could betray their assessments. Victor was signalled to stay by the window outside and shoot any possible backup that would make their presence noted when the gunfire started._

 _Claudia swung the door open, kneeling in a single flowed motion while Alice stood behind her, guns ready and aimed. One of the henchmen by the Murdered howled at the gunshot ripping through his shoulder blade. The other two reacted immediately, flying to opposite sides and taking cover behind nearby boxes under Alice's row of bullets. The wounded man lifted a gun but was put down before he could fire; Victor's gunshot shattered the glass and hit the thug in the forehead, throwing him to the floor like a heavy ragdoll._

 _Claudia and Alice quickly found refuges of their own, precisely as bullets were fired to where they had previously been standing. Claudia rushed towards the safety of a box by the right side of the door, leaning her back against the wooden container. She readied her gun while her eyes looked towards the door, cursing herself for probably causing flash blindedness for the seconds to follow, and waited for the break between gunshots from the Murderer's side in order to peer from the side and take down the remaining henchman that would be within range._

 _That was when she saw the movement in the shadows just in front of her and her heart skipped a beat. Her arm moved out of reflex if not anything else and she fired towards the wall, but even through the denouncing growl, the hidden henchman fired his gun before dying. Claudia was thrown back at the box and the air was knocked out of her lungs, a grunt of pain escaping her lips._

 _From her end, Alice was immediately alerted by the commition, but as she screamed for her lady, a gunshot exploded through the wooden box's top, higher than any of the two men could have fired from their locations. The bullet scrapped the maid's head, missing her skull for but a centimeter. The woman ducked and was forced into an unbalanced position that stopped her from pinpointing her attacker's higher point, a second row of gunshots started on her other side; another shooter?! How many were they?_

 _From his post, Victor realized the trap and was able to take down the henchman that had been hiding on the upper storey after a couple of shots. He scanned the storey that had appeared to be empty before, making sure it was now fully cleared of men before trying to shoot the Murderer as the man aimed, arm stretched over his blockade. The henchman closer to the Murderer fired continuously against the window, forcing Victor to retreat before he could fire._

 _Claudia clasped her hand tightly against the side of her torso, trying to stop the blood that stubbornly ran from her fingers. She didn't have time to see how bad the wound was. She looked up and to her right, trying to see if Alice was hurt or dead, bullets still flying and quickly forcing the men to recharge. As her eyes passed through the door again, she saw Victor entering, moving towards Alice's side to replace her and allow Alice to proceed forward._ _By the time Claudia noticed it, it was too late; she couldn't raise her gun to fire. Just as there had been one man hiding against the wall on her side, there was one on Alice's side too; the maid had failed to see him with the firing from above distracting her. The man caught Victor by the waist; the thrust was so brutal Claudia could hear the blade ripping through the flesh twice. Dark blood sprayed the floor when the henchman gutted her servant as if he was nothing. Victor's dying groan was muffled by Alice's gunshots that took down the assassin from behind; Victor dropped to his knees and fell over his shoulder, body jerking for a gruesome moment before falling still._

 _"The Watchdog comes to the Isle of Dogs again, huh?" The Murderer took the opportunity to claim from his end. "How poetic, eh? How're ye feeling, knowing yer servants are going to die failing to protect ye?"_

 _For someone who had already lost four men, he was awfully cheerful. But how were there men to begin with? How many more? How could they've known? Victor..._

 _"I've been waiting for ye, Countess," the Murdered continued, spitting loudly enough to resonate in the warehouse. Alice fired at his direction, but the aim failed and wood scraps flyed instead. "Yer pretty damn fast, eh?! I was expectin' ye to come tomorrow night, but lo and behold, I get the word of yer movements tonight? Couldn't let me breathe fresh air for long now could ye?"_

 _Claudia tried to count and think over the man's words; the Murderer and the first henchman. Those two for certain were still alive. There was still a third thug, one she hadn't seen yet but he had fired against Alice from the sidelines. Three targets._

" _Too high on yer high horse, eh?! Thought this would be a feast, wouldn't bother to be careful, would ye? That's the problem with ye, ye bitch. Too high on yer fucking horse!"_

 _Alice fired two gunshots towards the man, covering up for Claudia who bit down her teeth in frustration and stood up despite her body screaming against her, firing at the henchman whose location she did know; opposite to the Murderer. She saw his head poke behind his blockade and missed it by a whisker. She glided towards a box further ahead and closer to the Murderer, feeling the hiss of the bullet pass near her head. The opportunity wasn't missed by Alice, who could pinpoint the third shooter; the man screamed and his body fell with a heavy thud._

 _The Murderer tried to shoot both at Alice and Claudia, growling loudly and falling behind his blockage._

 _"There hasn't been a single day in that cell I haven't been plannin' this. Every bribe, every contact, ensuring my escape and ensuring I'd get ye when I was out... But I couldn't get ye on yer ground now could I? Ye had to come to me. Good thing I had ye followed! Ye've hastened your end! I can almost thank ye!"_

 _Claudia's breathing hissed as she pressed the wound on her side, still holding the gun tightly. How could the man have her followed? She would have noticed it... Damn it all to hell. She had to recharge, but she was closer, perhaps within shooting range already._

 _"Ye see, this shows I am the better man," the man kept bragging on. "My men have been keepin' ye under watch for days, preparin' for my escape. I could have had them shoot yer beloved fair-skinned daughter and yer lofty husband. I should have, ye bitch, I should have made ye watch them bleed in front of ye so ye'd know what ye made me go through! Ye didn't have to kill them! My wife had surrendered!"_

 _Alice must have moved further inside as well, judging by the gunshots that started to rage around them. The man was still shouting aftewards: "Ye killed them both! I had given up! I had surrendered and ye murdered them all the same! My brother didn't have anythin' to do with it! All he did was carry cargo, he shouldn't have died!"_

 _Claudia was reloading her gun, her grip slippery from the blood and her teeth clenched harder in frustration. Thankfully the man's talk buyed her enough time for it._

 _"But then again, I still have time. It's still vengeance if ye die knowing I'm gonna kill yer family after I kill ye. That'll be a-"  
_

 _Claudia threw herself on the floor and twisted her body to the side, aiming at the man, who couldn't catch her position so suddenly. Her bullet found flesh and Claudia glided back to the barricade under the man's pained howl and the row of gunfire that tried to hit either her or Alice. Chaos dwelled for some infinite seconds, screams of_ _"She shot me! The bitch shot me! Kill her! Kill them both!" as the two remaining men ran around from blockade to blockade. Claudia peered over to see the Murderer was trying to run towards the door, now left unprotected by Alice. His henchman was hiding out of sight, to give him cover._

 _Claudia gritted her teeth and stood up, aiming her gun higher and removing her hand from the bleeding wound to lock aim at the back of the man's head._

 _"My lady!" the maid shouted when Claudia had raised both hands to hold the gun. A piercing bullet ripped through the servant's back and shattered her rib, the impact nearly throwing the woman off balance, and in an instant her shocked gaze fell to the front of her uniform. The bullet had not exited. Whether the absense of blood reassured her mind or the last adrenaline rush drove her, she lifted her gun up, but not to the henchmand who shot her. She aimed it at Claudia._

 _Claudia's blood froze and she reacted immediately. As her maid was mercilessly gunned down before she could fire, Claudia turned on her heels, but her arm was locked tight by the person behind her._

 _Her reflexes were praiseworthy. Unable to turn and face the new opponent, she turned her wrist around and fired at point blank range, the gunshot blasting her ear drum. Even with the evident pain, she attempted a second shot before her wrist was twisted in a menacing turn. The perpetrator moved his free hand, holding something gleaming, first against the side of her ribcage, sinking it deep and ripping it out, indifferent to the grunt of pain it caused in her, her body bending forward in reflex, taking the intented distraction to lock it under Claudia's chin, pulling her up._

 _The cut was swift. Almost merciful, in some distorted reality rather than this one. A single motion, slashing deep, deliberately._

 _Claudia gasped. The gun dropped from her hand, still locked by the grip, and her other hand flew to the wound, blood helplessly slipping through her fingers. She choked, and as she coughed for air, only blood came out, dripping from her mouth. The tight hold on her arm disappeared and her knees dropped beneath her, her body falling backwards. The loose hair strands spilled on the floor, quickly growing damp and heavy from the pool spilling under it. Panic settled in as the blood flood didn't stop, chest quivering, her desperatively suffocating gasps and coughs the only sound now echoing in the warehouse after all the gun shots had ceased, the criminals silent in their own confusion or disbelief of how it all came to an end. She still tried to stanch the bleeding, the wound stretching horribly as she fought against it to turn her head, to find the person that should tower over her in victory, that should be somewhere near,_ somewhere Undertaker could see him with the gaslight coming from the window just behind them, _but they weren't. Slowly, the quivers started to soften. Her fingers slipped and slided to her shoulder, her hand falling next to her face. She thought of her children then. Her eyes were blurred under the lock of hair that had fallen over her face, but it didn't hide their loss of focus, or the moment they lost their light._

... the cinematic record reached THE END.

.

.

.

Eventually, he forced himself to stand up. Barely managing to walk towards the fallen servant three meters away and cutting into one of the bullet wounds, he indifferently watched her life, her struggles and victories, down to these docks, this warehouse, his little Claudia standing three meters away, alive, hurting, fighting. When the first bullet struck the servant, the woman held on to her training, her will to live, her orders to save her lady from the threat she couldn't see. But the maid could. Flash blinded by the light basking hauntingly over her, she saw it, the form behind her lady, the person approaching cowardly from the darkness. A shadow, shining when one gaslight ray grazed a fraction of white clothes turned aged sepia by the night. And her memories ended with the death of her body.

A flash of white. That was all he had on the person who killed his reason to smile.

The rest of the night unfolded to him in a distant cinematic reel. Maybe someone would one day see it in his own cinematic record. He didn't see or register any of it.

Tanaka arrived at some point, as did more servants and the Scotland Yard. The emotional words resonated to someone, but not to him. The words he himself spoke did not reach his ears: Francis and Cedric could be in danger. Whether the servants heard him, he didn't know.

They wanted to take Claudia away. A hand touched his shoulder, faintly, compassionately. All he felt was a weight. Tanaka. No one else would have dared to approach. The butler's expression was ignored by him, not bothering to lift his eyes to the man. A hand lowered over Claudia's face, and he halted it with a simple word. Tanaka stopped for a moment, but the man's fingers still fell over her eyes, blocking them from view, brushing softly down and hiding them forever.

Takana wanted to take them. Another simple word stopped the butler.

He took her. The servants, as well as the criminals, had to be transported with the Yard's help, but he was the one to take her. He was the Undertaker. It was his human job. The one he would have ellected eventually by proxy, but the one he accepted out of the memories of Claudia.

Dawn didn't dare to rise before he reached the funeral parlour. For once, for the last time, it granted him that peace.

The two servants were laid on the furthest tables. They would be treated like all his guests. The guest's coffin he had on the center table, abandoned hours prior, was relocated to the furthest end, contrasting painfully in her attire and fresh flowers against the butchered bloodied bodies who would need to wait to enter the chamber. The criminals were thrown on the floor of another chamber; they would need attending too, soon, but he didn't want them near now.

The procedure was always the same. Water, rugs, sponges, needles, thread, embalming oil, pumps, hair brush, clean attire, flowers.

From the very first moment, it was different. The blood that dripped from his sleeves and hands smudged into the clean water, making him realize he couldn't attend to any guest that way. Several white strands of his damp hair had dried into clustered blood clogs. His hands were covered by such a thick layer of blood he couldn't see the color of his skin. He had to attend to himself first if he wanted to work. He didn't remember ever moving so slowly, so suspended, like floating.

Drowning.

The clothes burned. The white sheet laid over her turned dark and moist. The softest sponge available brushed her face, her cheeks, lips, chin, jaw line, nape. All the blood ran down, leaving the wounds bare and dark. Chin gently raised. Skin stretched, pulled by the thread and slowly tied back together, perfect sutures. Bullet was pulled from her rib, wrapped in skin and bone, stab wound stitched and closed until it could be mistaken by a rib gently pressing at her skin. All traces of dirt under her fingernails vanished. Basin after basin was filled and refilled with water until it finally remained clean, her hair gently wavering under the surface. He didn't notice when the replaced the water with disinfectant.

He felt the presence even before the door to the parlour opened and closed. The steps were respectfully undisturbing, and exited quickly. Tanaka, leaving three sets of clothes for burial.

The rest of the process was mechanical; his mind was distant, his body moving on its own accord again as he carefully pinched the skin under the arm and watched the blood drain from the body. He replaced it with a mixture of chemicals and oils he had made. He followed thoroughly with careful incisions, strategic points to drain her organs and refill the chest neatly with more of his mixture so the guest would look beautiful.

He didn't look at her face then. When he did (for the guest needed to be brushed and attended), the weight sunk into him and forced him back to what this really was.

Her damp hair dried in a halo of greyish blue around her head as he laced fragmented oils. The dress was black; it suited her, made her skin stand out, powdered and less gaunt now.

Her skin was so cold.

Undertaker stopped. She was almost ready, but the hair wasn't quite right yet. It didn't suit her like she would want it. Slowly, as if he wasn't wary to disturb her - as if he hadn't been atendding to her for the past hours - his fingers brushed through the silk locks of hair. He braided two sets of hair, one for her and one for him, framing and falling past her shoulders delicately. It looked slightly better now.

He picked a pair of scissors then.

She would have likely glared at him and slapped his hand away, saying it was _inappropriate to neglect personal space_ or something of the sort. The sound he made was so familiar and yet now so strange, but before he knew it, he was chuckling and smiling just from the thought. He could hear Claudia's sharp voice saying those words, the hilarious look on her face and that little mischievous smile as she turned away, both a warning not to go against her command again but amused by the shown affection.

His smile wavered as his lip trembled, falling down under the weight of the world. The scissors clinkled sharply on the floor.

Smiling didn't relieve him. It hurt him more.

Without thinking, he removed his hand from her hair and touched her shoulders, locking a hold on the sides of her chest and pulled her up to him. Her head still fell back like a doll, like she was asleep, even if that wound on her throat could never fool his most hopeful wishes, before it fell against his shoulder. And ironically, on that moment he realized he had never held her in his arms, touched her hands or her hair before this day. All these years, undercover missions, countless hours of conversations, tea sessions and shared laughter... never. As if painfully reinforcing that fact, his mind brought the softness of her fingers when she had so fearlessly unveiled his face and nature as a young woman, and instead of shiver or retreat, spinned him around like a doll in a child's hairdresser. Her hilarious face on her wedding tailoring session, clasping at his wrist and pulling him into what she told was her Hell and it was nothing of the sort to him. The dreadful dooming end of the year, when she had helped him with his wounds, careful not to harm him.

He had never touched her until she was gone.

None of it made him feel better. Not the memory of her days ago, not years ago, not the vision of her cinematic record, not when she was a teenager playing with his hair, not when she was a child in disguise, not when she was a baby, smiling to-

Pulling, squeezing her so painfully against him, he tried to numb it any way he could. If he had held her like this when she was a little child, a baby... so small and... if he had held her days ago, or at that dreadful end of the year... She hadn't spent Christmas with her family, nor attended the social gatherings she should have at the end of the year, all those silly superstitions on luck.

The straining and forceful pull burned the muscles in his arms, his chest, his ribcage pressed and piercing into his heart and his lungs, but she didn't feel it, not when he was hurting her to ease his pain into her, not when he was hurting himself to push her wounds and death into him. Forcing the life he had scattered aside to now replace hers that had been stolen away. But she still didn't wake up.

He shouldn't be alive. _I shouldn't be alive, I killed myself for this very reason, this pain, to be gone, forever_ and they had _forced_ him to live _._ He didn't want to be alive. And when he had find a reason to be alive, the only reason for it, he couldn't do what he needed and what was right.

His life wasn't his. It had never been since he had ended it. He was alive for her, and now he couldn't return what belonged to her to begin with.

The irony of life.

 _Death is premeditated._

 _ **No.** _

_I'm tired of things happening because they are premeditated._

Choking, drowning and dying, Undertaker buried his face on Claudia's hair to stop breathing once and for all, and when he couldn't, he screamed. He couldn't manage a second scream before his voice choked and drowned and he broke down sobbing.

No one heard him but the dead.

.

.

.

to be continued

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* * *

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 **Author's Note I wasn't going to include in this chapter but here we are:**

I started writing this between November 13 and 14th 2017, which are painful dates to me. I only realized it a couple of hours later after sitting to write, and how the subject was ironically tied to the date, and so I tried to write it all down. I'm an idiot, obviously. I sat down for 10 hours, and still didn't finish it all.

Also, the first draft that was fully written and revised had a very different lighting during Claudia's scene - as in, full moon on that night. I decided to casually check July 13 1866 moon phase and it was fucking _new moon_. So I changed the whole thing. Because I see the scenes I write in my head as movies scenes, I do think the gaslight suddenly gives this an even more haunting quality than a pale moon lighting would. I also read several stuff about embalming, but I didn't really know how to include it here.

I listened to a lot of songs to write this, more than usual particularly due to the amount of months it's been since I've been writing it back and forth. The ones I give huge and most distinct mention are _'Never Go Back'_ and ' _End of the Dream'_ by Evanescence in their Synthesis format, as well as rear sound version of _'Imperfection'_. It should be pretty obvious from their names alone.

Despite the name, this isn't the end of the fic yet! ahah I want to thank everyone who has been reading until this point and sticking with me in this headcanon!

Thank you for reading.


	12. The continuation

What happened after the end?

It had to be more than this.

.

All there was for him was pain.

 **。**

 **。**

 **。**

Was she always meant to die on this day? Could her record have been changed somehow? Could his presence have altered anything, involuntarily, unwillingly and ironically tampering it for the worse?

He was in denial. Mourning always started with denial.

He didn't want to mourn.

He didn't want to overcome this.

.

If he mourned, he would have to accept she was gone.

.

He had prepared her for burial. He had held her in his arms. He crafted her perfect coffin.

She was gone.

.

No.

.

The day was beautiful, bright, a summer day without a single trace of fog or even clouds. The air was warm. The surviving Phantomhives, specially Claudia's mother and Cedric, were unwilling to break their Victorian age customs. They wanted to escourt Claudia from her home to the cemetery.

The Queen hadn't come. He didn't know why. Whatever justification she might bothered to present wouldn't be notified to him, a mere undertaker, a mere informant she was only vaguely aware of. He was no one. That was a benefit. He would rather prefer his condition to remain as such under the eyes of Her Royal Majesty.

Her absense wasn't missed in the least.

Tanaka was there, as were all the Phantomhive servants, all wrapped in black. The butler's expression was heavy with sadness, carving wrinkles that would soon start to permanently mark his face. He didn't dare approach Undertaker; and for the time being, Undertaker wouldn't approach him either. Not now. Not on this day where his anger and rage were still silently freezing under the numbness of pain.

At a certain point, Undertaker realized there was someone else in the cemetery; he sensed rather than saw the young butler. John Brown, the Queen's loyal puppy, marking presence in her stead. The Queen did acknowledge her Watchdog after all, even if by proxy. Her honour would still be preserved, her 'duty' and 'deep regret' for her fallen liege still displayed for the family and the public. The butler addressed Cedric and Lady Phantomhive alone, their words mute to Undertaker, their movements unfocused and blurred under his poor eyesight. The butler had delivered Cedric a mourning letter, most likely. The Queen's favorite means to reach her subjects.

The butler remained until the end, riddling the pleasant, suffocating air with his presence and the person he representated. His white clothes stood out obscenely amongst the mourning black. Undertaker was forced to keep his gaze low, hiding the tears no mere undertaker would share for an acquaintance, tears that freely fell from his eyes as he looked at the tombstone he had carved, the coffin he had carved, the body he had washed and stitched and held close, the flowers in her hair and the flowers on the bed of grass beneath which she would now forever rest.

Cedric demanded to help him in the burial. Against all social protocol, he helped bury his wife. The excruciatingly pleasant day mocked them as the final portion of earth hid her away forever.

The two fallen Phantomhive servants were also buried on this day. Even Lady Phantomhive attended their ceremonies. Their fellow servants were particularly moved by the reinforcement of the truth they always held close: the Phantomhives respected their servants and held them in their highest regards. They were worthy to be served, to be protected, never to be betrayed.

Only one person of the committee returned to Claudia's grave. Undertaker joined him, standing silent beside him.

"Had you noticed a special someone isn't here?" Vincent asked him. Undertaker looked at him from behind his bangs. "Mother was her Watchdog. She has saved her life and her kingdom countless times. It may be a dark role to play, but both respectable and despicable people are aware of it. She had to send her butler in her stead. Why wouldn't she come?"

A natural thing for a mourning son to say on the aftermath of his mother's passing; a childish expectation for a vassal to demant of their ruler; a blasphameous statement for the successor Watchdog to think and say outloud.

And for Undertaker, a relief to hear.

"...you are not as blindly loyal to the Queen as your mother was."

Vincent smirked.

"Do not let anyone hear you." His cold smile crumbled, falling with soft silent tears he allowed himself to shed only once, only with him, whom was neither his father or an acquaintance. A friend."She is really gone, isn't she."

Undertaker's heart kept forgetting to beat when that truth punctured it to the point of death. Stubbornly, it still didn't stop for good.

"She is, Vincent."

The grass rustled behind them. Both of them turned to see Francis approach; Vincent's hand had covertly dried away all traces of tears from his cheeks. Francis's black robes were too heavy for her. No child deserved to wear them. She was now too old for Undertaker to still hope to make her laugh with silly jokes or creepy dolls. A new, unrequired weight of sadness managed to creep through the numbness of his aching heart. Francis had taken much more of Cedric's features than Claudia's, but taken after her personality (minus her sense of humour). She was growing up to become a young lady that met and overcame all of her mother's strict demands. Vincent, who in turn had inherited both Claudia's likeness and personality (and sense of humour), had always shown he would outshine any of her expectations. Claudia's children would surpass their mother in all their merits, and she would not be here to witness it.

The three of them remained there in silence under that beautiful, damning gentle day, until Francis spoke in a low voice:

"I don't want you to become the next Watchdog."

Vincent turned to her. He was silent for a couple of seconds.

"It's not like you to say that at all, Franny. It's my responsibility, and we have always known it would be so."

"Mother's dead. You will die too. I don't want to lose you too."

"You'd earn my place then, Franny."

"I would be harder to kill. But that would only happen if you died, and I don't want you to."

Amidst their own pain, the two siblings found their support in each other. Vincent smiled at Francis's words, lowering his eyes to the grave.

"Maybe death is a choice that I can reject."

Undertaker tried to smile, but the straining was too hard to accomplish. It hurt to try.

"I wish it were so." _But it is not._

The words were left unspoken.

Because they were wrong.

All this was wrong.

Claudia shouldn't be dead.

Vincent shouldn't die.

The ache in his chest shouldn't be so painful, not when Claudia wasn't here to ease it, when she could no longer smile or give him a sharp reply that filled his day, filled the void his previous life had been. To make him smile, to give him reasons to appreciate having life forced into him again. All their conversations, all their laughter, all their thoughts and considerations, all the joy and all pain now gone, snatched and butchered away from him. It shouldn't hurt so much when he couldn't make the pain go away, when he didn't know how to stanch the bleeding that wasn't there to begin with.

Because it wouldn't stop. Vincent would follow, as would Francis, as would their future children one day; regardless of the madmen and women that had taken Claudia and would attempt to take Vincent, Francis, they _would vanish_ because someone would one day pick up a file with their name and emotionlessly watch their precious unique lives and cut the cinematic record after **_THE END._**

All those predetermined ends.

The pain butchered his body in a way he couldn't handle, shouldn't handle. He should be ripping at the seams, his scars should be tearing open and blood pouring out to show how hurt and empty it all made him feel. The silent tears weren't red like they should be, but they still left needle-like stings in his eyes as they fell.

So it was all wrong.

Why shouldn't Death be rejected?

Why should he let THE END happen?

.

He couldn't touch the empty locket for days. The mere thought of holding the cold silver cameo felt unreal, wrong. He would freeze her memory in it, her person, all the love he had for her, and he would be forever haunted by it.

He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.

The lock of hair remained next to it, waiting, refusing to be frozen as a mere memory. As if he could breathe life back to Claudia by wish alone.

He couldn't do it. Not yet. Or rather, not anymore.

The lock of blueish grey hair felt soft, silky in his fingers. He was afraid to destroy it, to disattach the fragile hair strands and lose even this small memento of her. He had to save it, even it meant accept-

No.

Never.

.

 _Forever._

 **.∞**

 **。**

 **。**

 **。**

When the numbness of denial and pain finally gave in, the freezing anger from below emerged.

Investigating the assassination wasn't too complicated with the given facts:

\- The Queen's Watchdog received a letter with clear instructions of urgency, and yet her most trusted man did not deem it necessary to accompain her in this mission. Why?

\- An evaded criminal set up a trap for the Queen's Watchdog, and yet he himself did not know the person crashing into his gambit and taking the end prize. How?

\- After being informed of the event on that very day, the Queen wrote and sent an urgent letter for her Watchdog to recapture an evaded criminal. Such events would normally reach Her Highness's Royal ears reported _by_ Claudia. If another informant had known of the criminal's escape, they would have to deem the information as extremely important in order to immediately notify the Queen - but the case was _nothing serious_.  
The police wouldn't have informed her; Claudia hadn't done it; another informant was unreasonable. So how had the Queen known?

Well that made things rather easy now, did it not?

.

But best not leave any loose ends and stones to turn. And from the narrow list of candidates, one was particularly easy to get in touch with.

.

He knew, the moment he saw Undertaker. Even through the usual greeting, the air was slightly heavier, the tension bleeding through the man's trained built.

"Have you been crying?" The words felt kind, albeit oddly estranged. A question he would have never make under any other circumstance, all that butler aesthetic mixed with his code of honour.

"Frequently, these past days."

Tanaka bowed his head solemnly. The man's eyes were darkened and hurt when he straightened back up. Enhanced by the redness brought by the tears, Undertaker's eyes gleamed menacingly. Any little doubts the butler might still have about his nature were all crushed the moment Undertaker had appeared in his chamber, face free from all protective layers.

"If I may offer an explanation for my behaviour here, I would like to request it."

"I will get an explanation whether you give it or not."

"I was expecting you to come. Were we on opposite ends, I would have done exactly the same. It seems too likely that Lady Claudia stepped into a trap - someone had to betray her. Even in my current place, I considered approaching you, but it was a thought purely of habit, a reflex brought by trained thinking. I completely ruled out any possible involvement from your part on this tragedy when I saw what I saw on that warehouse."

If he expected Undertaker to speak, he didn't. The man's unfliching eyes locked into Death's as he continued:

"You, however, have no such proof of me. It was only a matter of time before you came and demanded answers. I'm the most suspicious one to have committed treason. I was the one who told you where my lady went. I was the last person seeing her in the mansion. I delivered her the letter with the orders. I was not by her side when she died. I am the most priviledged person under Lady Claudia's orders, and yet I am alive and she is not. A butler is not allowed to die before their master. A samurai is not allowed to live after his daimyo has died. You have every right to suspect me. So I cannot be surprised to see you here, and I know what you have to ask and what you have to do."

Undertaker had met a few people like this when he was still a Grim Reaper. A soul of steel, unflinching in face of Death. Some of those people had been innocent, and some guilty - and all met with the same end. Maybe that was why he bothered to carve a sotoba before coming to kill the butler; it had been years since he had done one. It had been both soothing and committing to the outcome.

"Why didn't you go with her?"

"My lady requested me not to. She took two trained servants with her to deal with a matter that did not present a feasible risk."

"Yet the result was very different."

Tanaka's gaze fell, a frown sulking his skin deeply.

"I want to avenge my lady's death. But I failed her miserably, and I deserve to die for it. I know you will do everything in your power to bring the killer their appropriate retribution, and I believe you will be merciless. And for that reason alone, I accept my fate. If this makes me appear all the more suspicious, I cannot do anything against it. I did not conspire against my lady, but I can't deny that my irresponsible actions led to her death. I am guilty of that, and I deserve to die for my failure. However, if you want to, I can help you track down the Murderer of the Silk Trade, after which you will kill me. You are the judge of souls. It's up to you to decide."

Undertaker's eyes nailed Tanaka to his place. The man remained firm, unflinching. His resolve was true, as was his acceptance. His words were true, as was his sense of guilt.

But he was innocent of treason.

"The person that killed Claudia wasn't in league with the criminals."

"Impossible," it was his immediate reply.

"The criminals weren't expecting her to die like she did, nor did they see the person responsible. They were escaping."

"They had a trap set up for Lady Claudia. The amount of bodies in the warehouse proves it. The Murderer of the Silk Trade had men strategically placed, prepared beforehand to attempt at Lady Claudia's life. How..."

"The criminals did not know the person responsible," Undertaker repeated.

"Impossible." Although there was no room for misunderstanding in his words, Tanaka's gaze still averted his, trying to find something he had missed before. The truth right in front of him. "How could that be?"

"The person who killed Claudia came from the shadows. Most of the criminals had been killed. Only two remained, and they were preparing to escape when they shot little Alice-chan. That was when someone else came. Someone they did not know was there."

"Why would they be waiting then? Why were they waiting to ambush Lady Claudia?"

"They intended to make a trap for the following day." _Yer pretty damn fast, eh?! I was expectin' ye to come tomorrow night, but lo and behold, I get the word of yer movements tonight?_ The Murderer had said those words. "Someone alerted them that Claudia was attacking that night."

"My lady left but a couple of hours before. She left from the mansion with the servants, right after receiving the lett-"

"So, Tanaka-san," the butler's eyes focused back on him and on the terrible smile on his face. Cold, hurt, tired and dangerous. "Who else knew that Claudia would be there?"

"It cannot be." The man had turned bloodless white. Facing Death did not provoke the shock this statement now brought.

The chuckle made Undertaker's body quiver.

"What power does that woman hold over all of you..." he said quietly, "that blinds you so completely to the obvious?"

"It makes no sense. Lady Claudia is her Watchdog."

"And she put down her disobeying dog by slitting her throat. Is that not how you do it?" Almost merciful, in some distorted reality rather than this one.

"No. It makes no sense. What disobedience? What could my lady..."

It had been creeping in his mind. Undertaker knew what disobedience Claudia had committed.

It all came down to one night. That dreadful end of the year.

Sarah Delane.

The demon.

Himself.

Claudia had lied on his behalf to save England from a powermad ruler.

She had lied to protect him.

 _He_ was responsible for Claudia's death.

"If there is a traitor, it has to be someone else."

"Why?" Undertaker replied, attracting the butler's attention again. "I am not ruling out any possibility, hence me being here. It could have been you, it could have been any Phantomhive servant. It did present a problem of time, as any of you would have be extremely fast to notify the criminals under such short notice. It could have been the criminals' alone, had they not admitted being prepared for an ambush the day _after_ and so evidencing a change in their plans _._ And it could have been the person that notified Claudia to begin with."

"Are you going to kill her?" Tanaka asked, the flickering light casting shadows on his face that aged him terribly.

"Aaaaah... I wooooon~der~?" Undertaker grinned again, hand raising and fingernail tapping his lips, as a tear fell over his scarred cheek. "I do wonder... How ironic is it that Claudia would wish to strike me for simply showing my dislike of the woman."

"She is the Queen of England. Killing her would provoke chaos."

Undertaker turned his eyes to Tanaka.

"I'm sure it would. So instead, she killed my Claudia."

"The Queen could not have done it. You have no proof, Mr Undertaker."

Not yet.

There were still three people alive who had been at the warehouse. Two of the survivors were the criminals that escaped on that night. Well, not really survivors; they were dead, they just didn't know it yet. And the coward from the shadows; that flash of white that had turned burnt, aged yellow under the haunting gaslight lamps on the street, like a sepia photograph.

White.

White clothes standing amongst black.

John Brown. A loyal puppy.

Why _wait_ to deliver the final strike, though? It proved there was someone involved. Why not just leave the plan as it was, letting the criminals ambush and finish Claudia?

Because the criminals were escaping. Because that possibility could happen, and it did; and they had to make sure she died. They had decided Claudia would die on that day.

And because they would be...

"Please, promise me." The words took a moment to register in his feverishly working mind, interrupting him and forcing him to slowly return to the present, to Tanaka's chambers. Undertaker turned his eyes again, locking them in the butler's. "On my life and death, and on my honour. Do not take the Queen as a culprit until you have decisive proof. Do not attempt rightful retribution until you can, without any doubt, prove it was her. Otherwise, it's just senseless murder."

Senseless murder hardly seemed enough right now.

"Do not destroy everything this country is. You will ruin the lives of innocent people in it."

"I don't like rulers."

"The human world is an intricate place, Mr Undertaker. It needs rulers to prevent chaos."

He had suffered more than enough with megalomaniac rulers' decisions in both his lifetimes. The chaos of their deaths was little compared to the chaos and suffering they brought while alive.

"Vow to me. As two honorable men who cared for Lady Claudia."

Undertaker would curse Tanaka for demanding such a promise. Morals and justice were odd and frail concepts in this world where those who want to die have to live against their will, and those who deserve to live have their lives butchered from them. Concepts impossible to believe in when this world hadn't changed in centuries. But this man believed in them with the same ferocity he believed his life to be a fair compensation for his 'crime' of failing Claudia. Claudia trusted this man, and Undertaker should too.

But Claudia had trusted in Queen Victoria as well.

That was why Undertaker would curse himself and Tanaka for this promise.

"Rest well, Tanaka-san."

.

He chased down his next culprits. And he found them. What was left of them.

He knew it was the Murderer of the Silk Trade because he had followed a series of cinematic records of petty thugs to this location. Killing thugs seemed like a wonderful idea to appease some of the freezing rage that would otherwise be all poured down on the Murderer - and that might leave the man in a state of such destruction he wouldn't be able to access the man's cinematic record. And he needed to see through the man's eyes the identity of the person responsible for taking his Claudia away.

Someone else clearly shared Undertaker's concerns on extensive body damage. They had done it in their own fashion.

The whole building had been engulfed in flames and a commotion of bawling, howling and wounded people had attracted a crowd that helplessly tried to put out the flames. Undertaker watched from afar, the events unfolding in front of him slightly disattached from reality. A feeling not unlike what he had experienced when he walked down the warehouse in the Isle of Dogs, knowing - but refusing to accept - what was awaiting him.

He stepped back to the flickering shadows cast over all the surrounding buildings and disappeared, reappearing inside the building where several thugs used to find refuge amongst common people. Some were still breathing, burning alive. Others were choking under the smoke, dying from intoxication. Others were already dead. Undertaker ignored the flames, ignored the condemned souls that tried to reach him for help, and stepped to the door he had seen in cinematic records, where he knew the Murderer would be. The whole floor was burning, dangerously close to collapse.

There were four bodies inside. He was only interested in two of them - the Murderer and his last remaining thug at the warehouse - but all four barely resembled human bodies anymore.

He tried to touch the carcass with the Death Scythe. Nothing came out. It was as if the record had been scortched with the rest of the body. He had seen some such deaths when he was still a Grim Reaper, but he always arrived when no permanent damage had yet consumed the body and the record. The victims then had been like some of the people screaming outside the door. Maybe a fellow Grim Reaper had come at the right time, before these bodies were consumed beyond any possible salvage.

He wouldn't know now. He couldn't see the cinematic record. There were over thirty people dead in this building, and the two cinematic records he needed to see had been destroyed.

.

Tanaka had interrupted his thoughts earlier.

If the Queen had had Claudia killed, why would John Brown be there in person and wait to execute her?

Because they would be safe in anonymity.

Anyone who might investigate this case, be it the Scotland Yard, Cedric or Tanaka or Phantomhive servants, would consider the chance of Claudia having been betrayed. With the given facts, that would suggest the traitor _wasn't_ in the warehouse where she had died. Anyone - everyone - would assume the person who striked the final blow was one of the criminals with a thirst for vengeance over Claudia.

No one would know the killer wasn't with the criminals unless they could find the Murderer of the Silk Trade and interrogate him. And the man could lie, taking the glory over the death of his hated enemy.

No human would know unless they could speak with the dead, or had some form of power over the dead's memories to see what Undertaker had seen.

And what he hadn't seen. Because he _hadn't_ seen the face. The killer didn't show themselves to Claudia or to Alice. Deliberately, carefully, the killer avoided being seen by two people who were dying - and therefore shouldn't be able to ever reveal their knowledge. Why bother to do that? Why not gloat over his victims?

The two criminals who might have seen the killer died in such a manner their bodies and cinematic records were destroyed.

As if the killer knew that-

As if the killer knew there could be a supernatural way to see them and confirm their identity.

As if the killer knew that they had to protect their identity by hiding from all the witnesses - Claudia, Alice, the two criminals - and thus knowing they could only be found by someone not human.

...as if they knew, and were saying _'We see **you** '_.

They knew. The Queen knew.

Undertaker's hands clasped so tightly around the ornamented frame of Claudia's locket it almost teared his skin open.

If Queen Victoria and John Brown knew Claudia was lying, did they know exactly what she had lied about? What she had hid from them? Whom she had hid?

No. They didn't know for sure yet. They knew there was _something_ \- but not what, or whom. This would be a trial, a test to confirm whether or not that _something_ was real, and challenged it to come forward.

The Queen had lied to Claudia. She knew about supernatural entities. She knew something was wrong with the Sarah Delane case, and she knew Claudia had gained access to something powerful - knowledge. Knowledge she hid from Her Royal Majesty The Good Queen of England to whom no one should ever dare to hide from.

If Undertaker tried to persue Claudia's killers, he would prove his nature to them. If he followed his revenge, if he tried to stop his dying heart from suffering anymore, he would have to expose himself to Queen Victoria. And with it, reveal for certain the very darkness he had begged Claudia to hide - a request that had cost Claudia her life.

Her death would become meaningless. Undertaker _would_ be the one responsible for killing Claudia this way.

And the Queen knew.

It was a gamble, then _._

Undertaker suspected - _knew_ \- the Queen was involved in Claudia's death.

The Queen suspected - _knew_ \- Claudia was involved with supernatural and powerful creatures.

 _'Which is stronger? Your desire for revenge, or the secret you so obscenely want to keep away from me?'_

.

He loved Claudia too much to let her die for nothing.

He hated himself too much to try to easen his suffering through revenge.

He wouldn't give the Queen the satisfaction she desired.

So he would fight her another way.

 **。**

 **。**

 **。**

Perhaps his actions became a form of bargaining.

What if she hadn't died? What if he had stopped it? What if there could be a continuation after the end?

What if?

 _Can a dead person die twice, I wonder?_

The words the demon had spat during that dreadful night had etched into Undertaker in more than one way, for more than one reason. They came sometimes as chilling whispers to keep him from sleeping. As menacing claws to rip his heart out; as the echo of a suffocating wish of his own.

One day, their alternative, literal interpretation occurred to him.

 _Could_ a dead person die again? It difilled the very logic and definition of the notion. But the paradox was also the answer. A dead person wouldn't die again - they'd continue to exist as such.

If a dead person could continue to live somehow - like they, Grim Reapers, had been forced to - then they couldn't really die again.

Which meant Undertaker wouldn't be left alone again.

The means to start to ponder on that redundant and paradoxial question were few. It could never be done physically - through science. The body was dead, the organs dead from lack of oxygen and blood pumping through veins and arteries.

It could never be done spiritually. The soul was gone, taken by a Grim Reaper.

The only thing that remained was the essence. Memories. The cinematic record.

Could records be changed?

Could he change records?

How? He didn't have a soul list. He couldn't know when or how to prevent someone's cinematic record from reaching THE END.

But he could pick it from there. How else could he attempt to know what happens after the end?

.

He had a history of breaking rules.

Every time he defied some order someone had established somewhere, everytime he committed some crime according to some thing, he had been punished.

He had been punished for disobeying a mad ruler, thrown to the streets to starve and slowly perish.

He had been punished for not dying, witnessing his family waste away instead before him.

He had been punished for trying to take his life and failing, sent into an insane asylum.

He had been punished for successfully killing himself, being forced a life in search for redemption for his 'crime'.

He had been punished for meddling with human lives that he was forbidden to, extensively scarred and deserting his own 'society'.

He had been punished for longing to protect the life and soul of one human being, having to helplessly witness her being butchered and taken away from him.

Punishment clearly didn't do him any good. But someone somewhere still thought it could work. Whomever it was, it was a stubborn fellow.

So was Undertaker. So what would another little crime change?

.

He started with a young woman. Thirteen years old. The same age as Claudia was when they met each other again at the cemetery.

Before attending to her, before removing the blood-drenched nightshirt to wash and stitch the horrible deadly wounds on her torso and neck, before changing her into beautiful and clean attires and give her a peaceful burial, Undertaker took her freezing hand into his. The fingers were marbled with strings of dried blood. He had once seen an image in his mind, all those years ago, an image built from the suffocating fear of having Claudia layed on this table butchered like this young maiden was.

This time he had a real person. This time he had the real memory of Claudia butchered like this.

He started with rage. He held the cinematic record, fighting against his trembling hands that threatened to crumple the fragile ethereal film between his fingers. Right at the last string of film and the repeating THE END, he attached a new piece of record. It was a record of his own, a glimpse of the failure at catching the person who hurt Claudia, the rage at not being able to tear them apart slowly and painfully.

Something happened, a bit too fast to be seen under a blink of an eye. Literally. A quick movement under her eyelids.

He knew better than anyone else how dead human bodies' would spasm and involuntarily move as muscles began to stiffen and harden as rigor mortis set in. He had also seen it as phantom movements, reflexed ripples of the movements they had performed before their violent deaths, as if the body had a memory of its own and the muscles refused to let it disappear even after the heart stopped beating. It could have been a coincidence.

He played the cinematic record again. The young woman's eyes moved under the lids.

Rather than let this first, simple trial bewilder him, shock him that his hypothesis was even proven possible at all, he immediately followed to what was wrong with it: it wasn't enough. Was the memory not the correct type? Was the emotion not strong enough? Did it need to be more visual, more hateful, more saddening?

No. Who would want to continue to live for rage and sorrow?

What had made him want to be alive again?

Undertaker chuckled softly. Happiness. And what was it, the answer to that question he started wandering about eons ago, such a simple answer one of his fellow coworkers had once given him?

 _"If something makes me smile, I suppose that's what makes me happy."_

Undertaker tried again. He tried to giggle, to make something ridiculous and silly. Just a little piece of cinematic record, something caught in a blink of an eye that would instinctively cause a confused chuckle. He placed it after THE END.

For some seconds, everything was still, as if the funeral parlour - perhaps the whole world - had held its breathing in antecipation for the result. It was as if the cinematic record was reeling in its place, setting and preparing to reach its dreadful finale that finally had a continuation.

The corpse moved. A jerky, clumsy movement.

And then it fell still once again.

Undertaker touched the maiden's ice cold face softly. He played the cinematic record again. THE END appeared, and then that little, tiny continuation. Her body jerked, those same muscle-memories reacting to a memory that should not be there. She didn't open her eyes, didn't open her mouth, didn't coordenate her body. But her body reacted to a fraction of a memory, like a wind-up toy suddenly starting to move.

A rather bizarre doll indeed.

It wasn't enough, but it was a start.

He could continue after the end.

.

When Lady Phantomhive passed away that year, he attended to her burial with the same care as he payed all his clients, his mind only vaguely aware of the fact he had witnessed three generations of Phantomhive women die - this woman, her mother, and her daughter.

When Cedric passed away the following year, Vincent and Francis were left without family.

Alone with Cedric's open corpse, his organs eaten away by sickness his body no longer had the will to fight, Undertaker picked his cinematic record and made another experiment. This time, the memories he could attach were familiar to Cedric - himself, Claudia, Vincent, Francis.

Like before, sadness and anger didn't help. The body refused to continue to suffer.

Like before, happiness ignited a response. Only this time, Undertaker didn't place a small piece of record, rather a string of events cut from Cedric's own past memories. He removed them from their original place and pieced them together after the end - they became a continuation instead.

His body jerked and his eyes opened. A dead gaze shifted and swirled around the ceiling of the funeral chamber before they found Undertaker's eyes. Cedric's mouth gaped open, his arms shaking and trembling in a disturbing way as the muscles were breaking through the stiffness that had began to hold them. With his torso cut open and slices of flesh pulled apart like wings, Undertaker could see none of his organs were reacting, squirming with the unexpected life suddenly brought back to the body. Nothing. His heart wasn't beating, his lungs weren't filling with oxygen as his arms finally moved all the way up, trying to reach Undertaker. His fingers wrapped themselves around Undertaker's hand, caught in a grip he never did while alive, pulling Undertaker's hand closer to his face, as if he wanted to feel if it was real, to whisper against it.

He realized slowly what was going to happen, but it still happened too fast for him to know how to react. Cedric's gaping mouth opened wider and he bit Undertaker's wrist.

Rather than be scared or shocked, Undertaker let out a surprised laugh.

"My, Cedric, what is this now? You have always been funny indeed." Cedric didn't reply. His jaws were tightening at an alarming rate, but so far his teeth hadn't teared through the fabric of Undertaker's robes. His hands kept clasping, trying to find new grounding to pull him closer.

He didn't speak. When Undertaker pulled himself away from his grasp, the sound that came out of his throat was vaguely familiar, a hint of what his voice had sounded like, but it wasn't anything past a groan. Undertaker found the absence of voice pleasant rather than unsettling.

His experiment was a success. He could bring a dead person back to life.

With limitations. Yet.

.

Eventually, he would come to assume they seeked something that they lacked. Souls.

Where is the person's soul? No one knows. But it's inside a person's body.

If you ate away into them, maybe you could find it and make it your own.

It was rather beautiful.

The concept of bizarre dolls was beautiful.

.

A dead person cannot die. But they can kill. That was interesting.

How ironic it would be should the Queen one day be brought down by the very dolls she fueled the creation of.

.

Should Vincent one day die, he would bring him back.

 **。**

 **。**

 **。**

Being depressed isn't about being sad all the time.

Even though Vincent brought the peace and happiness Undertaker longed for, something had been permanently damaged. Undertaker started to believe he could no longer suffer more than he already had; rather than being freed by this thought, he dived into a state of permanent pain. A mourning depression he would never heal from. It was as if he was always almost drowning, just barely holding on, when suddenly he could breathe again. And then in the next moment he would submerge again.

He started to laugh instead. Fully and utterly becoming a joyful figure, an exterior far from the hollowness, sorrow and fear that consumed him inside. The deeper he drowned beneath those waves, the harder he would laugh; The more he repeated the experiments with his bizarre dolls, the more he would recall why he started them in the first place. Those who looked carefully would see just how fragile that lie was; those who cared to look didn't want to hurt him by dispelling that last paradox. Happiness and sadness entwined.

How sad it would be, should laughter disappear from this world.

.

Vincent formed a group of informants he named The Evil Noblemen. Sometimes dubbed as Aristocrats of Evil.

Whichever version of the title, Undertaker found it hilarious _he_ was deemed a noble, an aristocrat. It felt like one simple, ultimate proof of acceptance that he was part of the Phantomhive family. He was Vincent and Francis's family.

They were his family.

.

As a family member, he watched them as he had watched Claudia, as Vincent and Francis became young adults and fell in love with their respective partners. Francis had picked a funny and kind man as her fiancée that rather reminded him of young Cedric. They seemed to be as opposites as Claudia and Cedric had been, and that was a delightful match. On his end, Vincent revealed himself to be a hopeless heart breaker, oblivious to the fact the sister of the wonderful woman he had fallen in love with was just as infatuated with him. Two women in love with the same man.

"Love is a wonderful thing, but it can also give birth to horrific disaster," Vincent once told him. True, but grim words.

.

 _1872_

.

Vincent surpassed Claudia's expectations and hopes for his role as the Queen's Watchdog. He helped save her people and her country countless times. He was a loyal subject. Just not a blind or bland one.

Queen Victoria's popularity had declined over the course of some years. This held little to no interest whatsoever to Undertaker, but the change of that tide did. He learned, after the fact, that the Queen had suffered an attack by a young man, in Buckingham Palace no less. The ordeal had of course been extremely mediatic; and traumatic for the Queen - a version of the facts that was quickly substituted by the preserverance of The Good Queen. John Brown subdued the assailant and the Queen was left absolutely unscathed except for the startle of a lifetime. The incident soon proved to be actually quite favourable for her, as her popularity recovered as per magic.

It was all orchestrated by Vincent. Without the Queen's prior knowledge.

Vincent simply and joyfully explained the event would lose its authenticity had the Queen or John Brown known beforehand. It was hard to fake the level of stress required to cause the right reaction with the public. Everything had been planned to the smallest detail. The chosen assailant was related to an Irish parliament member, which would paint the attack with political colours that favoured the Queen and enhanced England's power. The young man's gun was unloaded. The whole affair had been utterly public, in the most surreal and important of all places, and its reports on the newspaper were the accuratest ones to date. The incident would bloat the Queen's resilience and recover the people's confidence and support of their fearless and powerful ruler.

All these facts were undeniable. An unorthodox, but efficient method.

Vincent was a loyal, protective, ruthless, yet naughty dog.

Shortly after sharing the conversation he had had with the Queen, Vincent sat behind his desk, an air of accomplishment emanating from him.

"What will happen to the boy?"

"What boy?"

"The one you used as assailant."

Vincent shrugged. "Last I heard, they were planning to go for twelve months of imprisonment and briching."

Collateral damage that wasn't perceived as important.

"I once gave a warning to your mother," he said. Vincent turned his eyes to a sealed envelope and proceded to open it a letter opener. Undertaker's gaze frowned under the same lack of interest displayed by this simple action. Too much of Claudia's temperament had passed down to her son. "I'm giving you the same now."

"Which is?"

"When you become too powerful, you fail to understand the importance of things that cannot be recovered."

"Please, don't be overdramatic. A spanking and some months away from the sun are hardly an execution. Besides, the boy did have intent. He just didn't know the weapon wasn't loaded."

"That's not my point," he insisted. Vincent was still entertaining himself with the letter rather than look at Undertaker. "There are some things that cannot be replaced after being damaged."

"My grandfather stopped four assassination attempts at the Queen. My mother stopped two more. I had to live up to their work. Out of seven times, this is the one that has startled the Queen the most. I should prevent one more assassination attempt, lest I'd disappoint Mother."

"Vincent..."

"Besides, all assailants lived many years. As you see, you can be rest assured. Nothing in them was permanentely damaged."

Before allowing Undertaker to insist, Vincent turned the envelope between his fingers to show it to him.

"John Brown delivered me a letter."

It was funny how the world worked.

"What do you make of the butler?"

"Hm?" Vincent turned, too focused on removing the letter from its place to having made sense of Undertaker's question.

"John Brown. The Queen's little butler."

"An interesting fellow."

"Indeed he is~"

"He much reminds me of you."

Undertaker chuckled. "Certainly the reminiscence does not come from colour attirement, I'm gathering~?

Vincent mimicked his chuckle. "No, certainly not. And both of you have a completely different aura. I meant more on the fact you don't age."

Indeed. That was a peculiar little detail to add to the peculiar little butler.

"The Queen has her conselour, I have mine. I'd say we're on equal foot there, wouldn't you?"

His eyes traveled quickly but attentively through the note in his hand. His lips curled to a satisfied, cold smile.

"The Queen congratulates me on the undeniable positive results of my endeavour. She couldn't be more fortunate to have such a Watchdog to act for the wellbeing of Her Majesty and continuation of the glory of England."

.

 _1875_

.

'The wellbeing of Her Majesty and the continuation of the glory of England' did not mean overstepping Vincent's personal life.

Shortly after their beautiful wedding, Rachel Phantomhive got pregnant. This, however, affected her health terribly, and the lives of both mother and child were threatened. Vincent focused solely on his wife's wellbeing. Undertaker knew for a fact that he had disregarded several orders from the Queen over accompaining her convalescence, until the day, already closer to the end of the year, when the laborious pregnancy got to its end.

Vincent and Rachel were blessed with not one, but two boys.

"The Queen congratulated the luck of two healthy boys, writing a bright new story on this grim day," Vincent told him when he first visited the manor. Even the pleasant news of Rachel's recovery and the birth of the twins had to be overshadowed by the woman's presence. Still, the look of utter delight and pride in Vincent's face managed to easen Undertaker's distaste. "Did you know? Prince Albert died on December 14th. A woeful day for her."

"I can but imagine," Undertaker said absent mindedly. Perhaps he should be interested in that little coincidence; a little irony. Perhaps it should have alerted him.

.

Coincidencially, three years later, so would the Queen's daughter, Princess Alice, die on this day.

.

 _1880_

.

"I can't control myself. I have to say it to someone."

"Hm~?" Undertaker lifted his head after they had been discussing information he had delivered to Vincent regarding latest case. The Queen's military obsession was back on its peaks with England's state of conflict worldwide. Her paranoia had found reliable and palpable threats and she was engaged in strengthening her defences. At the cost of some victims that ended up under his care in the funeral parlour.

All this distasteful affair was lightened up by Vincent's burst of laughter.

"Diederich. He... it was absolutely hilarious. He summoned a meeting with a German committee in Windsor, but it turned out one of them was actually a former enemy of his father's. One of those ancestral-type of quarrels, only this one seemed to be a private, secret matter he did not really know of. So he naively summoned the man, who made the effort to come all the way from Germany for the meeting with one goal in mind. Can you guess?"

"Poor Diederich~"

"What can I say? He quite lost the blood in him when the man pulled out a gun and attempted to seal his old quarry. Needless to say, Diederich owes me a very big favour now. And he knows it. He has already dubbed it 'The Windsor incident'.

"'Windsor incident'?" Undertaker started giggling. "Little Diederich is doomed. You will never let it go."

Vincent let out a laugh.

"Of course I will. When he pays me back a favour. Technically speaking, he pointed out he only sustained such a threat because of me in the first place, but he can't evade this one. Please don't mention it up with him or anyone else. I'd like to save the pleasure of being the sole keeper of the priviledge of seeing Diederich's embarrassment. That way I'm the only one who can use it as leverage in the future."

He laughed with Vincent. However, the entertaining picture of Diederich being begrudgingly persuaded to do Vincent a favour in the future did not overshadow a tiny factor of his statement.

"What were you doing with a German committee in Windsor, Vincent?"

Vincent's smile didn't falter or soften.

"Broadening my horizons."

.

 _1882_

.

The Phantomhive twins were adorable. Their features were reminiscent not of young Vincent, but young Claudia. Their personalities, however, were of no one rather themselves.

Identical copies of each other. Undertaker loved to play with them, and had more than once effectively overstepped over the servants' tasks and acted as caretaker for them when they were babies.

As they reached seven years old, their distinctive personalities had already set themselves on polar opposites. Although he often played to mistaken them, Undertaker knew quite well how to distinguish Vincent's children.

They were unique. Not quite like any of the other Phantomhives yet. One lively, cheerful and enthusiastic. The other thoughtful, cautious, contained. One eager to protect and support, hiding his own need to be protected and held. The other needing protection and care, hiding his own eagerness to overcome and improve.

They were a complete set divided in two halves, always tied together at their core. Like skies and stars.

.

 _1885_

.

 _December_

 _._

"Is something wrong, Vincent?"

He smiled. He always did.

"I believe so, Undertaker. But we'll see."

Undertaker looked at him from behind the bangs of his hair.

"What do you mean?"

"There has been some developments with my involvement in the Windsor incident. It's becoming rather fun, really. It's nothing you should worry about. I myself am still... assessing what will come out of it."

The Windsor incident.

The dreadful end of the year.

The two formed a parallel that struck a cold hollowness in the pit of Undertaker's stomach.

"Diederich will know everything," Vincent garanteed, smirking. "He will be more than unwilling to accept it, but should you need anything, you know he will be available to help you. He has already promised to look after the boys some years ago."

"If you are trying to be mysterious for the sake of suspense, Vincent, it's not really working."

Vincent let out a dry laugh.

"Sorry, sorry. This is a joyful time after all. The boys' birthday is so close. You will come by of course, won't you? We would be delighted, and I'm sure the boys would too. We have scheduled the guests to start arriving at 6pm, so you can come at any time."

"Of course I'll go. Ten years old~ they're starting to grow up."

.

It was then that Undertaker could not, ever, stop blaming himself.

Through denial, anger, bargaining and depression, he could never reach acceptance.

He could blame Tanaka for the vow the man forced upon him.

He could blame the Queen and her butler.

He could blame predetermined deaths.

In the end, the fault was his alone.

He should have been there.

He should have known.

He should have felt it, he should have stopped it.

He should have _known._

 _I should have known._

.

Last time, they only aimed for Claudia. The fallen servants were mere collateral damage - their goal was Claudia.

This time it was everyone. Everyone.

This time they didn't bother with trials. They burned everything. The house was burning, the bodies were burning.

This time it wasn't two servants. It was all of them. Not all of them were burnt to a crisp yet, their bodies soaked in pools of blood, their cinematic records accessable, but he couldn't watch them now. The stench of smoke, burning fabric and meat had replaced oxygen.

He didn't see the corpse of any guest.

He didn't see any trace of the children.

He didn't see Vincent. He was...

 _No._

 _NO!_

 _If I had been here..._

 _I can't go through this. Not this. Not again._

Denial, anger, bargaining and depression. Useless.

His world was dying again, for the last time, and he couldn't do anything but see it crumble.

Undertaker rushed through the corridors of the mansion he had learned by heart, the sight of endless bodies etching deeper and harder each time that this was the end. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could change. On this day of all days, happiness turned into tragedy.

A little coincidence; a little irony.

He stumbled across Tanaka on his way up the manor. The butler was lying in a pool of blood. He was still safely away from the flames; his body still held the cinematic record. He was just about to summon his Death Scythe when he saw the old man's body move, shaking in a relentless attempt to continue to fight for life. He clasped his hands over the man's shoulders and turned his body upwards. His first thought was to wrap his fist around the old man's throat and squeeze the remaining life out of him.

"Undertaker..." the old butler gasped, blood spilling from his lips.

"What happened?!"

"Lord Ciel... is... the young master... not dead. They're not..."

He didn't have time to think on the reasons why everyone would be killed except the boys.

"Where are they?"

"Taken... please, Undertaker..."

He released the wounded, dying butler. The bundle of broken emotions was overflowing all his senses: he wanted to kill the butler for failing again, he wanted to kill himself, he wanted to scream and tear his eyes out, he wanted Vincent to be all right, he wanted to bring Vincent back to life like he had always hoped he could one day, he wanted the boys to be safe, he wanted to hope this was all a nightmare that would end now.

Rather than escape and run after the children, he had to see. If his brain had been under a fraction of lucidity, he would have striked Tanaka down and seen the man's memories; he would have known the answers of his fears and he would find the beacon of hope that were the boys, immediately following after the culprits and tracking them down. But he had to see Vincent.

He had to know Vincent was all right. Even though he knew it was too late.

The burnt, yellowed gaslight shining through the darkness in his past memories met a parallel of a blinding raging inferno that burned everything away from him.

They were both gone. Claudia. Vincent.

This time, he didn't have a body to mourn, to hold.

This time, they stole even his chance to hold him in his arms.

This time they had destroyed all his hopes at last.

This time it was too much.

 _._

to be continued

 _._

* * *

.

 **Author's Note** : _'Death is a choice that I rejected'_ is a reference from the fan song 'Rapture Rising' which is fucking perfection. And needless to say, _'They're all dead, they just don't know it yet'_ is a direct reference from The Crow.

The reference to the incident in 1872 is real, I just 'Kuro-ed' it. Also, I'm starting to believe that the Windsor incident mentioned in canon is actually gonna turn out to be a silly thing rather than dramatic, but I chose to go with it for the sake of it.

This chapter needed to cover an extensive amount of stuff and I don't really like it. The parts I do like are lost amongst such a huge chapter. I tried to make it 'prettier' by having the 'symbolism' with every 3 dots

 **。**

 **。**

 **。**

symbolizing each step of grief. Undertaker never moved past depression and never reached acceptance.

But meh, it's a poor excuse to save a chapter that is just a bit too overcrowded with stuff. But here we are. And we are almost at the end.

The final chapter will be published on friday July 13. And it's actually nothing else but an epilogue, as you will see by the size of it.

Thank you for reading.

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	13. The children sacrificed

_._

 _1886_

 _._

"Undertaker! Are you here?"

He knew that voice.

Undertaker wasn't hiding in one of his coffins. Over two months had passed since he last did that.

Three months.

A year?

Twenty years?

(Had it been _twenty_ years since...?)

How long had it been? Maybe even longer. Time blurred. Times blurrs when you are bored or when you are committed.

And when you are alone.

The newcomer's announcement reached him slightly muffled. One stumbled heartbeat. He had felt people approaching the funeral shop, the change in the air when the door opened and the metal hinges screeched. Slowly, he finished placing the blindfold over the young maiden's decomposing face. One stray hair strand was curled back to place, framing the wax-like skin. He could feel the presence, the familiar aura, just on the other side of the wall. A living, breathing aura, at last. Finally.

And yet...

His trademark amusement wasn't building the smiling mask yet, but he could feel it slowly crawling back up his face by every step he gave towards the parlour's hall. Everyone had their roles to play, and no one wanted theirs to be betrayed by a foul up. Himself included.

The visitor was standing in the middle of the shop, appearing neither pleased nor patient, the contours of his blurred shape highlighted by the firy hues of the candles. The visitor had sensed movement, and turned towards the door. The blue on his face should not stand like that in the dim light and darkness, but it did. The blue gaze wavered on that mutual recognition. Undertaker felt the instant of hesitation in the boy's role, the only moment when he would ever feel the fragile lie. Undertaker would never hold that hesitation against the child as a flaw in performance. He did a very good job, much better than any child should have to do.

A good enough job to solify the fragile lie into an immersive play.

They might have been identical, but they were different in everything else. It had always been immensely easy to distinguish the twins for that reason. This boy was not the one everyone had greeted; the one he had presented himself as.

...He wasn't the innocent boy he had been before, either.

Neither the boy or his brother had ever entered this place before. He looked simultaneously out of place, and yet so familiar. Like it was supposed and meant to be, just another normal day in their unique, morbid, perfect relationship. That family was fated to enter this place and ask for the Undertaker's help, like his father before him, like his grandmother before them.

And yet...

He looked so young. So cold, stern, resilient. Out of Hell and back into the world.

Ciel.

Or rather...

That was the whole point, wasn't it?

Not-so-Ciel forging a whole new Ciel.

 _Can you hear him, Ciel? Your brother is back._

Undertaker smiled.

"Little Phantomhive~ Coming back from the dead."

The boy scoffed. "That would be troublesome. The bastards did not manage to kill me."

The visible, physical effects of the events were starting to soften from his little body. Gradually. The real scars were deeply carved beneath skin, but at least the appearance was healing. The boy's skull wasn't trying to rip his face anymore, his cheeks had regained flesh, his hair was washed and perfectly trimmed.

He knew. He had seen the mirrored, dead image. The one that wasn't healing or breathing.

Yet.

Even his noble clothes were slowly starting to fit over his tiny form. It still looked off, however. Too adult for him, too responsible for the child that had been so eager to play with his brother, so eager to hear one more story during tea time, dreaming of candies and toys; Vincent had told him of that particular dream career. The dark, deep bags under his eyes still showed a glimpse of Hell that-

No. Under his _eye_. The dark bag of sleepless nights made that unreal gleaming blue eye stand out.

And the glimpse of Hell on his other eye was covered by an eyepatch.

Not all physical scars were fading, and that one wouldn't.

The small Phantomhive wasn't alone in his parlour. Just like Undertaker imagined. And just like he always, _relentlessly_ tried to prevent...

Well. Life was ironic, wasn't it?

"New little butler now, is it?"

"Good afternoon," the butler replied, gloved hand over its chest and easy polite smile, the perfection of etiquette and aesthetics and all those silly things Victorian England nobles valued. As Undertaker stepped forward, he realized his impression hadn't been wrong: the denouncing differences weren't enough to apeace the confusion, only enhancing the discomfort.

It looked eeriely like someone it shouldn't. It looked like Vincent.

Why or how, Undertaker wasn't interested. Maybe it was just another irony, that ever present and ever powerful Irony that ruled over all of them and over the precious family Undertaker cared so much for. Maybe it was purposeful, an evil whim to tangle its victim in those quiet strings of suffering. Maybe it had seen the image not in its contractor's memories, but in those of its sacrifice's. Ciel.

 _"Why would someone call something of this nature?"_ , she had once asked.  
 _"It's irrelevent, seeing the ending is the same."  
_ _"How can it not be relevent?"  
_

She had been right.

Why would such a happy child like he had been call a thing like that, were it not for his brother having suffered some horrible end? The suffering had been too much. How would the demon be here otherwise? Looking the way he did, no less?

Regardless of the reason, the smile that face brought to his lips was dangerous.

"Good afternooooon~! Do you have a name, little butler?"

"My name is Sebastian Michaelis. I-"

"Pfff Ha-ha haha! Last I heard that one, Sebastian replied with barking and rolling over. Furry little creature he was. I suppose it's not too odd, a Dog to have another dog, huuuuh~?"

The boy clicked his tongue.

"What kind of a comment is that?"

"I've heard about you gaining your official title, Earl. It's not just the dead that bring me news. You are Earl Phantomhive, your home is back to its feet, back to your faithful place under Her Royal Majesty the Good Queen Victoria. The leash is back in her hand and the collar around your neck now, isn't it?"

"I have not come for this silliness," the boy interrupted. "I take your alliegence still lies with my family, does it not? Or have you forsaken us after the betrayal we suffered?"

Undertaker was already closer to them, drawn by the thing standing next to the Phantomhive boy. At those words, the smile that creeped over his features extended past masks of amusement and veiled anger, into what it had become thanks to Claudia, Vincent, Ciel and Astre. He leaned over the boy, too close for anyone's comfort but close enough for him to see the boy clearly, his blue eye and the one branded beneath the patch.

"You would have to try very hard for me to leave your side, Earl. And believe me, neither you nor your new butler can accomplish that."

The boy didn't flinch. He blinked, scoffing uncomfortably from the bold movement, but it wasn't a cowering reflex - nor was it that adorably hilarious childish fear he used to feel from Undertaker's oddly scary and smiling figure.

The Earl deserved praise.

"That is perhaps a bit too close for my young master to-"

"Leave it, Sebastian," the boy said, regaining his composure when Undertaker straightened back up. "I take your word, Undertaker. It's good to know my family's friends are still with me."

"Of course~"

The thing smiled again, bowing its head to its young master's peculiar friend. Undertaker smiled back, as if this mutual greeting boded good fortune and approval.

"Pardon me. I will know not to step out of my place next time."

"Do not worry yourself with it, little butler. I'm sure you'll take very good care of our Earl~" Undertaker replied, voice laced with the strange amusement the thing would learn to expect from the mortician.

"Thank you very much, Mr Undertaker," it said. Undertaker crossed his long fingers in front of his chest, grinning wider. He was so close, he could caress the thing's face with all its beautifully elegant features, so perfectly built to fit his role of make-belief butler. And gauge its eyes out.

 _Why would such a creature serve a human, why would such a thing care to play dress-up?_ Right~? All that just for a meal he had yet to taste, all seasoning to increase the flavour. Undertaker would find out eventually: how the demon came in contact with his little new-Ciel-Phantomhive, and what their agreement had been. The demon was ultimately responsible for Ciel's death, and for New-Ciel's future suffering. And _this_ demon Undertaker could kill. It was going to stay very close, all the time, because one soul hadn't been enough for it. It needed the complete set.

Yet maybe this time, it wouldn't.

He wouldn't lose anyone else.

"Soooo... how can I be of assistance, little Earl~?"

.

.

.

 **おわり**

 **The end**

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Author's Note: I've written this chapter by time I posted chapter 6. I wrote this under a very hard moment, just like when I was young. I shouldn't have.

Music is ** _'Magna Insomnia'_ ** anti-nightcore from FFXV OST. The version has since been deleted from youtube, which is a shame.

A canonverse AU is not my comfort zone. Too many liberties and headcanons based solely on groundless speculation. And therefore, it always felt like something that would only interest me, not anyone else. The fact that I wrote this to the end, and that readers stayed with it and enjoyed it, is wonderful beyond words.  
Up to this day of July 13th 2018, this ended up being my longest fic in word count and chapter number with over 50000 words and 13 chapters, and the longest running fic throughout a total of 1 year and 3 months plus some months of prior of brainstorming, finished on July 13 because date parallels are always important. Friday July 13. I mean, what are the odds of this year actually having this exact combination?

I don't see myself writing anything this long in the near future, or likely ever, really. So I'm glad I wrote this now.

 **To these people:** MassiveMilkshakeNerd, Indochine, Kiellessa , Shi no tamashii , WasteOfMyTime , James Birdsong, Emeraldsaregreen, NitaHeichou, Reira Verzeihen Danke, Sakamaki Suzuku, xenocanaan, CinamonRolls, Fushia Flame, KreuzO13, furryfelines1, JinxRiddle7, Finnigan, SisselTorikki, WordForEveryStar, Hawkeye_the_hot_spy, BookLoverSince1996, BigCityWitch, Celie_06, and all the anonymous kudos and readers, thank you.

 **Thank you and everyone else for reading,** and see you around.


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